


JNCOFT 1: Just Not Cut Out for Torture

by shilo1364



Series: Torture!verse [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adventure, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Happy Ending, M/M, Multi, Past Abuse, Pranks, Temporary Character Death, brains over brawn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-27
Updated: 2016-09-09
Packaged: 2018-06-04 21:12:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 44
Words: 58,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6675625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shilo1364/pseuds/shilo1364
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drarry Hogwarts 7th year AU.</p><p>The summer before 7th year, a restless Harry Potter is captured and taken to Malfoy Manor. Together, he and Draco Malfoy escape to Grimmauld place, where they are instructed to stay put while the Order takes care of more urgent business. Left out of the Horcrux hunt, they hatch their own plans to defeat Voldemort. Kreacher and the sentient Black House play a pivotal role, joined by a reluctant Snape and all the usual suspects. With the help of their friends, Harry and Draco learn to tolerate one another, defeat Voldemort, and even death itself. In this alternate Battle of Hogwarts, pranks and scheming carry the day.</p><p>Fluff, angst, adventure, sacrifice, friendship, love. Temporary character death. Happy Ending. LGBTQ+ , bi, gay, lesbian, poly relationships: Harry/Draco, Fred/Hermione/Luna/George, Ginny/Pansy, Snape/McGonagall  Rated T: romance, language, previous abuse. COMPLETE</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Brighter Than the Sun

Draco POV

Draco stared.

"How does he _do_ that? He's responding as if he knows what I'm going to say before _I_ do. As if – Oh. Damn."

"What is it?" Lucius leaned forward in his chair, eyes bright, intent.

Draco swallowed. "It's probably nothing. I'll just – "

"Tell me." His father's voice rang with effortless command. Draco hunched his shoulders.

"I – "

But Potter interrupted. "I know what he's going to say because I know him."

Draco gnashed his teeth, but stayed silent. His father's predatory gaze had shifted to Potter, which could only be a good thing, as far as Draco was concerned. Potter gazed up defiantly at Lucius, squinting through his fringe and the trickle of blood from the shallow cut over one eye. Of course, he was probably trying to read Lucius's expression, since he couldn't see clearly without his glasses. For that matter, Draco was surprised he could see anything at all. He'd never realized how blind Potter was. He snorted. _Though why Potter hasn't had his eyesight magically restored_...

"Draco."

Draco snapped his gaze back to his father, hunching his shoulders a bit more. His face flushed. _I'm just not cut out for torture_. "Yes, Father?" He tried to match his father's cool tones, but the hint of a grimace on his father's lips told him he hadn't managed it. Potter, damn him, was squinting at Draco, brow furrowed and gaze far too... interested. Draco felt a stab of guilt, which he desperately tried to stifle before it reached his face. He wasn't all that sure he'd succeeded.

"Tell me." His father's voice was soft and dangerous now. Draco shivered. " _Why_ does Potter know you so well that he can predict your torture methods?"

"Well," he said, trying and failing to muster a flippant tone, "we do go to school together, you know."

"Draco."

Potter took pity on him. "He's made it his personal mission to taunt and bully me since we both arrived at Hogwarts. And, frankly, Sir – " Draco didn't miss the sarcasm in the title, and neither did his father, by the way he slowly raised one elegant brow. " – his methods are... rather predictable." Potter almost seemed apologetic as he said the words. Draco's scowl returned.

Lucius turned to Draco, brow still elevated. Draco shivered again.

"Draco..." The words were dangerously cold, for all the casualness the drawl pretended to. "You mean to tell me you've taunted Potter for years – "

Potter started. Draco desperately tried to hold in a snort. Potter didn't know his father. He wouldn't know what was coming...

" – and you dared employ _the same methods_ here? Have you no sense, boy?" Lucius aimed a casual cuff at Draco's ear.

Draco took the blow, grimacing slightly at the way it made his ears ring. Potter's eyes narrowed. He turned his gaze on Draco, and it was far too calculating and _knowing_ for his liking. Draco felt his features rearranging themselves into a scowl that he _knew_ made him look childish.

Lucius waved a hand dismissively. "I was hoping, Draco, that you'd at least manage _this_ , since your schoolboy rivalry is somewhat legendary already. Alas, it seems you cannot even manage so small a task as this. I'll have to give him to Bellatrix, now." He shivered in distaste, a delicate rippling of his shoulders. "Since she's the Dark Lord's favorite, at the moment. Of course," he propped his chin on his hand, "that leaves the problem of what to do with _you_. This was your last chance, you know. I'm not going to speak up for you again."

Draco closed his eyes. He'd expected that. And, honestly, he wasn't even that upset. He knew he wasn't cut out to be a Death Eater. After the things he'd seen in the past few months... well, he couldn't even muster up any fear for what they'd do to him. He _knew_ what they'd do to him. _I might even welcome it_...

"No."

His eyes snapped open. Potter's eyes blazed into his, brighter than his mother's emeralds. Brighter than the sun. Draco felt himself falling into that gaze, burning up in it...

"I won't let you do that to him. He's a bully, yes, but not a very competent one. He doesn't deserve... whatever you've planned for him," Potter finished lamely. His eyes, still trained on Draco's, brimmed with compassion and pity.

Draco felt something break inside him. _No one has ever stood up for me like this. It won't do any good, of course, I know that, but... that Potter would stand up for me at all..._

"Ah, but don't you see?" Lucius practically hissed the words. "That's exactly why he _does_ deserve it."

Potter didn't flinch as he turned his gaze to Lucius. Draco, freed from the intensity of that gaze, wobbled for a moment. He felt like a puppet whose strings had just been cut. Draco saw his father's gaze _sharpen_ , and he shoved the feelings aside to deal with later.

"On the other hand," Lucius breathed, "I might have to keep you for myself. You're much more interesting than I thought."

Draco shuddered. _No. No, Father can't mean to_ – but it was clear that he meant just that. Potter's brow furrowed in confusion as Lucius prowled closer to him.

" _Much_ more interesting..." he murmured, brushing Potter's fringe back from his scar with infinitely tender fingers.

Draco's stomach twisted with revulsion.

"Lucius."

The quiet purr startled Draco, making him jump. _When had his mother come in?_ Draco felt a vicious satisfaction as his father's back tensed.

Lucius turned slowly to face his wife, expression carefully blank. "Yes?"

Narcissa glided across the dungeon floor as lightly as if it were a dance floor. "Lucius. Darling. Surely you've not forgotten our bargain?"

Lucius paled. "I – "

Narcissa cut him off smoothly. "I would hate to think you were tempted _again_."

Potter's head swung back and forth between Draco's parents, expression bewildered. They didn't seem to notice. Narcissa glided right up to Lucius. He backpedaled clumsily, dropping his studied elegance. Potter's mouth dropped open, and Draco felt his own mimic it. He snapped it shut quickly. _It wouldn't do to give them more ammunition. Although, they really seem too focused on one another to notice..._

An electric jolt of elation buzzed down his spine. _They didn't notice. Which means, We_ might _be able to..._ He inched his wand into his hand, concealing it inside the sleeve of his robe. Then, with as little motion as possible, he flicked it through the spell, muttering the incantation under his breath. Potter's mouth fell open again as he felt his bonds fall away. Draco _glared_ at him, and he closed it silently. Draco inclined his head towards the door behind him in a barely perceptible motion. Potter was watching him closely, as usual. He threw a quick glance over his shoulder, toward Draco's parents, embroiled in one of the interminable arguments, then stole silently toward Draco.

Draco muttered another spell, masking Potter's footsteps as he slunk across the space between them. He risked another glance at his parents. They seemed intent on each other still, so he muttered the spell again, this time masking his own footsteps, and together he and Potter slipped through the door.

Once they were out of the room, Potter turned to him. "Draco – "

"Not _now_ Potter!" Draco glared at him exasperatedly, and Potter held up his hands in surrender. Draco quickly locked the door from the outside – _it won't delay them long, but it might surprise them enough to give us a few extra seconds_ – and then grabbed Potter's hand, tugging him along the corridor.

Potter, of course, had to be difficult. He dug in his heels with a mulish expression. Draco rolled his eyes. "Potter." He bit the syllables off. "We have to leave. Now. I'm trying to _help_ you."

"Yeah, but, why?" Potter squinted at him. Oh, right.

Draco pulled Potter's glasses out of his pocket and shoved them into his hands. "I'll explain later, okay? Just – for now, we have to _move_."

Potter blinked owlishly at him, eyes even larger behind the thick lenses.

"Pot _ter!_ "

He searched Draco's face intently, but whatever he saw there seemed to satisfy him, because he shrugged and allowed Draco to tug him forwards again.

"We have to get out of the manor!" Draco panted. "Once we're beyond the anti-apparition wards – "

There was a shout behind them, and a blast of magic that nearly bowled them over as it barreled down the corridor. Draco closed his eyes. _I've_ _chosen the wrong side. Again._

"Draco!" The shout, nearly in his ear, startled his eyes open. Potter was glaring at him, nose shoved practically against his. Draco's pulse sped up. _His eyes are so_ bright– "Draco! Where do we go?"

Draco scowled. "Nowhere, Potter. There's no way we'll get out."

"But you said something about apparating – "

Draco jerked his chin impatiently, cutting him off. "We're behind anti-apparition wards, Potter. We'll never get past them in time." He could hear his father's footsteps pounding towards them. Then Potter's arms wrapped around his middle.

"Potter!" He squeaked. "What are you _doing_?"

"Apparating."

"But you can't, didn't you hear me? I said – "

But his words were ripped away in the maelstrom Potter flung them into. _It had to be Potter_ – that was the only thing he was certain of, the only constant in this screaming place. He held to it, and to Potter himself, as he felt the wards – it must be the wards – trying to rip them to shreds. And then they were through, and the whirling nausea of a normal apparition took over, and it was all too much. Draco felt himself slump against Potter, who clutched him tighter to his chest. And that was all that mattered.

* * *

When Draco came to, he was in a bed. At least, he thought it was a bed. It _felt_ like a bed. But he was fairly certain that he _shouldn't_ be in a bed, so he couldn't be sure. He blinked slowly at the ceiling, trying to focus his thoughts. Then the bed moved.

Draco squeaked, scrabbling about for his wand – he must have dropped it while... doing whatever it was he'd been doing before he ended up on this suspiciously moving bed-that-was-probably-not-actually-a-bed – and simultaneously attempting to scramble to his feet. Which didn't work, since part of the not-really-a-bed seemed to be on top of him.

The not-a-bed-at-all groaned. "Geroff"

"What?" Draco frowned suspiciously. It didn't _sound_ like a curse, but with things-masquerading-as-beds one couldn't be sure.

"Get. Off." The grumpy-not-bed shoved at him and finally succeeded in freeing itself, dropping the bits of Draco that had been comfortably supported onto the floor.

"Ow!" He rubbed at the back of his head indignantly. And then Potter's face loomed over him, and he squawked and flailed and generally failed to be dignified.

Potter snorted. "Get up. It wasn't _that_ bad. You mostly landed on me." He motioned impatiently with the hand he held stuck out in front of him, and suddenly Draco understood.

Draco gasped, instantly transported into the memory of his 11-year-old self, holding out his hand to Potter. He grimaced at the snotty expression on his younger self's face. _Surely I didn't look like that. Did I? No wonder Potter refused me_. A pointed throat clearing brought Draco rudely back to the present. And the hand still thrust in front of his nose. _Oh_. Draco reached up, hesitantly, and grasped it. Potter pulled him unceremoniously to his feet, frowning at him.

"Maybe you hit your head harder than I thought," he muttered, half to himself.

Draco stiffened. "I'm fine." He winced as he suddenly felt the bruises. "Well, mostly. What in Merlin's name _was_ that, anyway?"

Potter frowned. "I apparated us. No need to thank me or anything."

" _Through the wards_?" Draco stared at him, aghast. _No one_ could do that. The Dark Lord couldn't even do that. _Maybe I picked the right side after all_ , said something deep in his brain that was still thinking semi-clearly.

"Yes?" Potter pushed his glasses up his nose, as if he needed to see Draco more clearly.

"I – Thank you. For saving me." The words came out more stiffly than he'd intended them – he was _thanking_ _Potter_ , for Merlin's sake – but Potter seemed to accept them. He turned and started walking.

"Wait!" Draco tried not to screech, but wasn't entirely successful. He coughed and tried again. "Wait. Where are you going?" Then he frowned, interested despite himself. "Where are we, anyway?"

"Home." Potter said simply. Draco stared blankly at him until he took the hint and elaborated. "12 Grimmauld Place. The Black House?" he tried, and this time Draco understood. He gaped around, shivering, imagining a chill seeping into his bones from the shadows in the corners. He'd heard stories of the Black House. He'd _never_ wanted to see it for himself. Draco was many things... but foolishly brave was not one of them. Potter, on the other hand... Then he realized Potter had reached the door, and hurried to catch up. There was no _way_ he was going to let Potter leave him here alone.


	2. Masks

Draco POV

Draco shuddered. He could swear he felt eyes on him as he followed Harry down the hall. _Wait. No. Potter._ As he followed _Potter_ down the hall. It was bad enough that he called him Harry in his head. _Merlin, what if I do it out loud?_ He shuddered again. His back itched, right between the shoulder blades. The hair at the back of his neck was standing on end. He hunched his shoulders and ducked his head, presenting a smaller target to whatever was watching from the shadows, and sped up. Soon he was walking next to Potter. Potter, whose arms dangled loosely at his sides and who appeared perfectly relaxed, the git. Draco scowled.

"Potter."

Potter turned to look at him, a flash of annoyance flitting across his face. "Yes?"

Draco swallowed. "Potter!" he whispered, dropping his voice so Potter had to lean closer to hear him. "Potter, I think something is watching us."

He expected Potter to jump, draw his wand, scan the room. Or at least laugh at him. Instead Potter just smiled, a quick lifting of one side of his mouth that was gone so fast that Draco wondered if he'd imagined it, and turned away. "It's just the house," he said, "you'll get used to it."

Draco stared at him for a moment, openmouthed. Then, he realized that Potter was getting ahead of him again, and he frowned and hurried after him.

They walked in silence for a time.

Draco fumed silently. It wasn't _fair_ that Harry – _no, Potter_ – could dismiss the feeling of eyes on him so easily. Draco _hated_ being watched. He hated how vulnerable it made him feel. Living with the Dark Lord hadn't helped. Draco shuddered, and this time it wasn't from the sensation of invisible eyes on him. The Dark Lord – _or, maybe I should call him Voldemort, now that I've finally switched sides_. Draco was surprised at how good that felt – even though it was a small rebellion, and no one but him would ever know. Of course, they all knew he'd helped Har-Potter, now. But he hadn't planned to do that. He was being his usual cowardly self, torturing Potter halfheartedly because that's what he'd been told to do. Shutting the part of his brain that screamed that he couldn't hurt Harry – he _liked_ Harry – into a box in the back of his mind. He'd gotten a lot of practice at that, over the years. And then something snapped inside him and he just couldn't take it anymore. The hate, the beatings, the reprimands, the laughter as they tortured him, then forced him to do the same to others. He closed his eyes, trying to block out the images, but of course that only made them stronger. The Dark L – _Voldemort_ , he reminded himself harshly – was cruel. But he didn't often have much attention to spare for Draco. His father made up for it, though. And his mother only ever stared at him with cold eyes that told him how disappointed she was.

She never laid a hand on him – she left that up to his father. _Probably didn't want to dirty her hands_ , Draco thought bitterly. She'd always been like that – beautiful, distant, and cold. Like the Ice Queen from those old muggle fairytales he'd always loved. He'd always taken a guilty pleasure in all things muggle – anything he could get his hands on. It was his form of rebellion. Had been. Until he ran off with Potter. Draco gulped, feeling his mouth dry out. _What will they do to me when they find me_? He firmed his jaw and stuck out his chin defiantly. Well. He'd just have to make sure that he angered them enough that they killed him quickly. His mother might prefer to let others do the dirty work rather than sullying her hands herself, but his father had a cruel streak and took a perverse pleasure in torturing his enemies. His house elves. His son.

A dozen old wounds throbbed at the memories, and Draco winced, biting his lip viciously. Voldemort – he felt a deep satisfaction when the name rolled easily through his mind this time – Voldemort relished torturing his victims, and his followers, and delighted in causing them pain. But the worst of the lot was his Aunt Bella. She lived to cause pain. He'd heard his parents talking about her once, before she came to stay with them. Something had happened to her when she was young – Draco didn't catch what it was – and whatever it was had broken her. Now she was crazed, bloodthirsty, deranged – with nothing left except a fascination with pain. Others'. Her own. Draco shuddered again as his eyes popped open. If _she_ captured him, he'd have to kill himself.

Draco opened his eyes to find Harry staring at him. Harry was standing right in front of him, emerald gaze peering into his eyes, squinting a bit, as if it would help him see into Draco's brain. He looked puzzled, and determined. Draco squeaked. _This is not good_. He had to distract him. He forced his sluggish thoughts into order and opened his mouth. But before he could say anything, Harry dropped his gaze, a momentary frown flitting across his features before they settled once again into their customary blankness.

Draco found himself suddenly and inexplicably annoyed. _Merlin,_ he thought, _does he think his face will get stuck if he keeps any expression on it for too long?_ Draco had heard something about some such muggle nonsense, but surely Harry knew better than to believe such rot? _He used to wear all sorts of expressions_. Draco's brain helpfully supplied him with several examples and he frowned, distracted. _When did I notice all that? And, more importantly_ Why? Then he wrenched his thoughts back to the matter at hand. _Merlin. I didn't used to be this scatterbrained! What's gotten into me? And why doesn't Harry wear any expressions? He used to, all the time – apparently I noticed – and now his face is just blank. It's like he's wearing a mask..._

Draco stopped. _I'm an idiot. Of course it's a mask. Like mine. But the question is, when did he learn to do that? And why?_ He was so busy puzzling over this that he walked right into Harry, knocking them both to the ground.

Harry groaned, then scowled at him. "Honestly, Malfoy," he said, "could you at least wait until I've had something to eat before you pounce on me?"

Draco felt his face flame. _Merlin. Harry thought... No. Potter thought..._ He couldn't complete the sentence, even in his head. But he still knew. He thought distantly that he should be outraged, but he was just confused. Confused and very warm. He tugged at the collar of his robe distractedly. Then he realized that his pants were feeling a bit tight and he nearly died of embarrassment. A sudden movement under him reminded him that he was still sprawled across Harry's body. Harry's warm and very attractive body. Draco shot to his feet, stumbling several feet away.

"I..." He stammered, then realized he had nothing to follow it with.

Harry was looking up at him strangely. He narrowed his eyes, studying Draco. Draco closed his eyes, hoping that Harry was still hopeless at legilimency. He heard Harry stand up and straighten the bizzare muggle clothes he was wearing. Which were bizarre, he reminded himself sternly. Not hot. Not even bizarrely hot. He jumped as a hand landed heavily on his shoulder, shooting white-hot sparks though his body. Then it was gone. Draco felt suddenly cold.

"Come on," Harry said, voice as blank as his face. "Kitchen's this way. Let's get something to eat."

Draco opened his eyes cautiously, in case Harry decided to trick him into making it easier to read his mind. But, no, Harry had turned his back and was walking away. Draco hurried to catch up. He didn't really want to be near Harry – _I don't_ – but he didn't want to be alone in this creepy house more. Of the two, Potter was still the lesser evil.

 


	3. Call Me Harry

Draco POV

Harry stopped at a door that looked the same as all the others to Draco. _Merlin. How am I supposed to find anything on my own?_ Then he realized that Harry was waiting for him. He opened the door as Draco stepped to his side, gesturing Draco ahead of him.

"This," he said, voice blank, "is the kitchen. And this – "

There was a resounding crack, and the dirtiest, ugliest, most menacing house-elf Draco had ever seen materialized before him, meat cleaver in hand. Draco cowered – he couldn't help it – as the... _thing_ advanced on him, yellow eyes glaring.

Harry stepped neatly in front of Draco, meeting the House-elf's glare with one of his own. " – is Kreacher. _My_ house-elf," he said, emphasizing the possessive.

The – Kreacher – continued to glare for a moment, then inclined his head in a bow that was more sarcastic than subservient. _Father would never let a house-elf get away with such disobedience_ , Draco thought numbly. Then he shook himself. _And you really want to take him as your example?_ He shuddered, but the numbness had receded. _For now_ , he thought bitterly. He looked at Potter, to find him gazing at him thoughtfully. It was disconcerting.

"What are you staring at, Potter?" he asked with a haughty toss of his head he'd learned from – _no. Don't think of him. Just... don't do that again._

Potter's voice, drawing him from his thoughts, had never been so welcome. But, Draco had never heard it so warm either. At least – he'd never heard the warmth in it directed at him. That warmth was so welcome that Draco missed the sense of his words entirely, he was so busy listening to the tone. He felt the tips of his ears burn. "What?"

Harry's puzzled, speculative gaze sharpened for a moment, then he shrugged. His ridiculous hair flopped forward, concealing his eyes from Draco. Draco was surprised at the sharp pang of loss that shot through him. "I said... call me Harry," Potter said softly.

Draco swallowed. "O-ok."

Potter – Harry – _Merlin! This is confusing!_ Harry nodded sharply and turned back to Kreacher. Draco started. He'd forgotten the alarming house-elf entirely during that odd exchange with Po-Harry. He could have been brutally murdered! A quick glance at the mad gleam in the house-elf's eyes assured him that Kreacher was definitely capable of it. And Harry expected him to _sleep_ here? With that... _thing_ on the loose? Draco groaned and resigned himself to a sleepless night before tuning back in to the conversation.

"Kreacher," Harry was saying, "Can you make us some sandwiches please? No need to set the table – we'll eat in the study. And then, if you could prepare two rooms, we'll retire right after eating."

The house-elf just stared mutinously at him.

Draco coughed delicately before the silence stretched too long. Of course he wanted to prolong Harry's embarrassment, he told himself, but he was hungry and tired and not inclined to draw this out. He almost believed himself.

"Harry." Draco stepped forward to lay a gentle hand on the boy's shoulder. Harry started and turned to him warily.

"Yes?"

Draco smiled. "Like this." He spun to face the house-elf. "Kreacher!" he snapped. The house-elf's yellow eyes rose to meet his, glinting hostilely. Draco ignored that and adopted his haughtiest expression, sneering down his nose at the creature. "You will prepare us a plate of sandwiches, tea, and whatever sorry excuse for biscuits you can scrounge in this dump. And you will do it _quickly_. While we eat, you will prepare the two best bedrooms and lay out towels. We both require showers before we retire for the night." Harry opened his mouth to protest, but Draco glared at him until he subsided. "We will also require pajamas. Unless you have some here?" he asked, spinning to face Harry once more.

"No." Harry said thoughtfully.

Draco nodded and turned back to face the house-elf. " _Now_!" he finished.

The house-elf fell, squeaking, and began kissing his shoes. "Finally!" he croaked, "Kreacher has a _real_ Master! Who gives commands the way a Master _should_." He glared at Harry. Then he lifted his eyes to leer at Draco. "Is Master Black _sure_ he requires _two_ rooms?" he asked, a strange light in his eyes.

Draco felt himself blushing from his toes to the roots of his hair. "Oh. Um. Yes. Definitely two." He risked a glance at Harry, relieved to find him as red as Draco knew he was. Then his eyes widened. _Unless...unless he's blushing for the same reason? No. No, Draco, don't be an idiot. He's probably just horrified by the idea. Like you should be. Are. Like you are._ He sneered at Harry to cover his discomfort. " _That_ is how you manage a house-elf, Potter. Take note."

Harry didn't flinch from Draco's stare as he'd expected. He gazed back, face impassive and blank as a stone. "Harry." He turned to accept the plate of sandwiches Kreacher had reappeared with. Draco sighed, relieved to have the weight of that stare removed. He accepted the sandwich Harry thrust into his hand without noticing what kind it was, and ate it mechanically as he followed Harry into the study.

"Merlin!" he exclaimed, staring at what he held in disgust. "What did I just eat?"

Harry looked at the remains of his sandwich. "Um. A PBJ?"

Draco stared uncomprehendingly at him. Harry's mouth twitched. "A peanut-butter and jelly sandwich," he clarified.

Draco scowled. "Are you telling me," he asked, voice low and dangerous as he could make it, "that I just ate a – a _muggle_ sandwich?"

Harry's mouth twitched again. "Yep."

Draco felt his mouth twitch in answering amusement, no matter how desperately he tried to control it. Then he was laughing, and Harry was laughing, and it felt So. Damn. Good. Draco couldn't recall the last time he'd laughed this freely, or had this much fun. _This was worth it_ , he thought, as he and Harry collapsed on the sofas by the fire, still laughing. _Even if they find me and kill me tomorrow, this was so worth it_. He didn't think that this was the happiest moment of his life – he shoved the thought away when it threatened to intrude – he wanted to savor this moment. If it did end up the happiest moment of his life, then he fully intended to wring as much happiness from it as he could.

He looked up into Harry's knowing, sympathetic gaze, and was nearly undone. _I know_ , those emerald eyes said as they locked with his. _I understand_.

Draco didn't know how long he lay there, frozen in that stare. He only knew that he didn't dare look away, and when he finally reached, with shaking hands, for the tea Kreacher had provided, it was cold.

A quick warming charm took care of that – _of course_ , Draco thought, frowning, _Kreacher should have placed his own warming charms on it_. But he couldn't focus on that for long. Harry was still gazing at him. Draco didn't say anything – he couldn't. He'd wanted Potter's – Harry's – attention for too long to give it up now that it was offered. He yawned into his empty cup.

Harry started and smiled sheepishly at him. "Come on. Let's go to bed." He held out his hand.

Draco almost responded sarcastically to the unintentional innuendo – _it was unintentional, wasn't it?_ – but in the end, he couldn't resist that hand, stretched toward him in friendship, echoing his own gesture, so many years ago now that it felt like a lifetime.

 _Here we are again_ , he thought, reaching out to take Harry's hand.

Harry pulled him gently to his feet, but didn't immediately drop his hand. "Well," he said softly, as he stared down at their joined hands, "you chose better than I did." Harry's words echoed so closely Draco's thoughts that he didn't at first realize that Harry had spoken. "I'm sorry." Harry added, "And, thank you. For saving me. And – for giving me another chance." He squeezed Draco's hand, then dropped it and turned to the stairs. "Come on. Bedrooms are this way."

Draco stared bemusedly after him for a moment, rubbing absentmindedly at his hand, which now seemed to carry the imprint of Harry's, before shaking his head and following thoughtfully behind.


	4. Master Malfoy-Black

Kreacher POV

Kreacher muttered to himself as he whisked about the house, preparing it for the Masters. "'Please!' The half-blood is saying 'please!' He is not knowing about the proper way to be treating a house elf. He is not knowing about the House. He is not knowing much at all. The other Master – he is knowing these things. He is being a much better Master. The Black blood is being running through his veins. It is being diluted, yes, with filthy Malfoy traitor blood. But it is being there."

He plumped the pillows violently, causing a great puff of dust and bits of feathers to drift into the air. Kreacher vanished them with a sharp snap of his fingers. "But he is not being the legal owner. The younger, most unworthy, Black heir is being giving the House to _Potter_. He is not being in his right mind. He is not _understanding_ what the House is needing. He is not even _trying_. But he is doing it _anyway_."

Kreacher whisked through the next room, a grisly tornado of dusting, fluffing, plumping, shaking, sweeping. Soap and water, dust and grime, cloth and feathers flew through the air, appearing and vanishing with sudden cracks of magic.

"Young Master Malfoy-Black is not knowing about the House either. But he is being capable of learning. Kreacher is being able to _make_ him know. But the House is still being legally _Potter_ 's." The swirling maelstrom paused, and Kreacher's ears drooped. "There must be being a way that Kreacher does not be seeing." His scarred face wrinkled in thought; his whiskery brows drew down into a menacing frown.

His features rearranged themselves into a gleeful grimace. "But maybe Kreacher is being able to _make_ the House be being Master Malfoy-Black's. Maybe Potter is being willing to sign it over." He rubbed his scaly hands together, considering. "Maybe Kreacher is being able to be convincing him." He looked around, startled, at the cleaning implements frozen in the air around him. He snapped his fingers, setting the whirlwind moving again. "Kreacher must be considering how best to be convincing him..." He snapped his fingers again, and a pair of luxurious silk pajamas appeared on each of the beds.

He moved to the bathrooms, whisking in fluffy towels and scented soaps when the tiles and fixtures sparkled to his satisfaction. "But Master Malfoy-Black is not being the only living Black descendant. His mother, little Cissy, is being a traitor to the Black name. She is being following her husband into service to the Dark Lord." Kreacher shuddered. "That is _not_ being a worthy Black path. And Cissy's sister, Bella, is being even worse. She is being _leading_ her husband into the Dark Lord's service. _No_ Black should being bowing to such a one as the Dark Lord is being. He is being a _half-blood_ too." His nose wrinkled. "And their sister Andy is being even _worse_ – she is being disowned. She is being marrying a _muggle-born_."

Kreacher nodded in satisfaction at the prepared rooms and apparated back to the kitchen with a loud crack. He immediately began whisking around the room, stocking it and readying it for the next day's use. "Master Malfoy-Black is being the _only_ one suited to being Master of the Most Honorable and Ancient House of Black." He paused in the middle of beating eggs for the breakfast pie, sighing mournfully at how far the Most Honorable and Ancient House of Black had fallen, then shook his head, shaking off the momentary gloom. " _Former_ Mistresses Black Cissy and Bella is being coming here soon. They is not forgetting this House. They is being trying to be taking Masters Potter and Malfoy-Black to their Dark Lord." He grinned, showing all his razor-sharp teeth. "But they is not knowing that the House is being able to ward itself against them. They is not knowing that _Kreacher_ is being able to ward the House against them. They is not knowing _now_. But they is knowing soon."

He cackled as he considered the many ways he could – would – ward against them. Then he began to list the artifacts and books that might help him with both the wards and with convincing Potter to sign the house over to Malfoy. Once breakfast was prepared, he apparated out, off to search the libraries and storage rooms for what he would need.


	5. The Most Ancient and Noble House of Black

Black House POV

The Most Ancient and Noble House of Black had been dozing. It had been many years since it had had a proper Master. Many years since it had had anyone at all. Anyone but Kreacher, who was only a house-elf. The Most Ancient and Noble House of Black didn't think much of house-elves. They were there; they were necessary. Much as the air was there, and necessary, to its Masters, but not often considered. Just...there. And Kreacher was only one house-elf. There had been days, long passed, when the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black had had many house-elves. But those days – full of glittering parties and the shadowy velvet of Dark Magic – were long gone. There was Dark Magic, still. It lay thick over every surface, an invisible shroud. It seeped into the cracks, oozed through the pores. It was built into the bones of the house, the blood of the wards. But without a Master it lay quiescent, dozing.

Until now. Now there was a Master in the House. Not a True Master – not yet. But soon. The Most Ancient and Noble House of Black shuddered awake. It blinked not-quite-eyes and roused not-quite-bones. It opened not-quite-ears, and listened. And the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black got its first surprise.

There was not one Master in the House. No. There were two.

The Most Ancient and Noble House of Black paused, considering. There had not been two Masters for a very long time. The Most Ancient and Noble House of Black reconsidered. It was not used to reconsidering, but made allowances in this case. Two True Masters were very rare indeed. Two _potential_ Masters, less so. The Most Ancient and Noble House of Black needed to know more. It needed to know which case it was dealing with, so it could decide how best to proceed.

So the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black opened all of its not-quite-eyes. It opened all of its not-quite-ears. And it settled in to wait.

After several hours of observation, the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black had learned many things. And yet none of those things was helpful. Well, Kreacher's monologue had reminded it of Mistresses Narcissa Malfoy nee Black and Bellatrix Lestrange nee Black. The Most Ancient and Noble House of Black activated the Dark protection artifacts and modified the wards. It armed the traps and tied them into the wards. This done, the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black returned to contemplating the problem of the potential Masters.

The question of which Master would be most suited to be a True Master was more nuanced than Kreacher supposed. The house-elf, having a limited house-elf perspective on things, saw only that one potential Master was a pure-blood (though only half-Black), and one was merely a half-blood (and not a Black at all). Thus, he supposed the pure-blood to be the most suited, and didn't consider the matter further. The Most Ancient and Noble House of Black knew better. Blood – its pure-bloodedness and Blackness – didn't matter so much as the house elf supposed. It was a factor, yes. But not the most important one. No, thought the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black smugly, it was, in balance, not that important at all. More important, in the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black's view, was strength: raw magical strength and the strength of will to back it up.

Neither of the potential masters lacked magical strength. Master Malfoy-Black's was more controlled, pulsing with quiet strength, content as a cat in a sunbeam. Master Potter's was stronger but wild, prone to lashing out in unpredictable bursts, crackling in the air around him like a stalking lion. The Most Ancient and Noble House of Black wasn't certain which would be better suited to being a True Master Black. This uncertainty irked it, but many hours of concentration and thought yielded no more certainty. Both potential Masters were fragile, skirting the edge of emotional instability. Both buried their weaknesses behind masks; both were nearing their breaking point. But, try as it might, the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black was unable to predict which would break under the strain of becoming a True Master, and which would flourish.

The Most Ancient and Noble House of Black was forced to conclude that the test was inconclusive. This was distressing. But the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black, unlike the house-elf, Kreacher, was patient. The Most Ancient and Noble House of Black could watch. It could listen.It could observe. Most importantly, the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black could wait


	6. Nightmares

Harry POV

They retired – to separate bedrooms, despite Harry's unintentional innuendo. He wasn't sure what worried him more: that he kept making comments like that when he would normally never dare, or that Draco had so far refrained from commenting on them, when he normally wouldn't hesitate to. They were both acting out-of-character, and Harry didn't like it at all. It made it impossible to predict what either of them would do. And he needed to make plans – for both of them. He _needed_ to be able to predict what they'd both do.

He was still worrying, turning the questions over in his mind, and not getting any closer to satisfactory answers, when sleep crept over him.

_Harry was running. The world around him was hazy, nebulous, unfocused. He fumbled anxiously for his glasses, only to realize that they were right where they belonged. The problem wasn't his eyes, then. He could hear heavy breathing, out of sync with his own. Were those footsteps? He couldn't be sure. He pumped his legs harder, but the world slipped past at the same rate. His lungs burned; his legs shook with exhaustion. A cramp flared to life on his right calf; he ignored it. He knew he couldn't keep it up much longer; he could tell they were gaining on him. A howl sounded in the distance. An eerie moan floated through the mist. His skin prickled; he gasped for breath. The nagging cramp became a sudden, tearing pain that ripped through his leg and pulled tears from his eyes. He stumbled and fell to his knees. The howls turned gloating. He hunched his shoulders, curled himself into a ball, tried to protect his vulnerable parts. He could hear the snapping of their jaws, feel their hot, fetid breath roll over him –_

Harry snapped awake, gasping, his heart pounding a frantic staccato in his chest. _A dream. It was a dream. It was_ – his heart nearly stopped beating as another howl rent the air. No. Not a howl. A scream. _Draco_.

Harry was out of the room before he realized what he was doing, in a rush of frantic shoving – the covers, his door, Draco's door – and pounding feet. He skidded to a stop beside Draco's bed, unsure what to do. Draco was thrashing violently, twisting the covers. His hair was matted to his damp forehead; his eyes were wide, unseeing. His mouth was a slash of red in his bloodless face. He looked terrified. He looked like Harry.

 _He has nightmares too._ The thought shouldn't have calmed him, but it did. _We're not that different, then. So maybe what works for me will work for him_. Harry climbed into Draco's bed before he could talk himself out of it. Draco needed him. Harry knew how to deal with people needing him. And if a little voice in his head whispered _you need him, too,_ well, Harry also knew how to deal with that. He ignored it, like he always did.

Draco thrashed wildly, flailing his arms and legs. He landed quite a few blows before Harry managed to subdue him, by the simple expedient of lunging on top of him and pinning him to the bed. Draco shuddered under Harry, twisting his neck from side to side. Harry's arms and legs were busy holding the rest of Draco down – Harry didn't know how to stop the thrashing and was afraid he'd hurt himself. So he did the only thing he could think of.

"Draco!" Harry shouted, "Draco! Wake up! It's just a dream! Do you hear me? You're dreaming – it's a nightmare! Draco!"

Draco went completely still, and Harry worried, for a second, that he'd gone into shock. But, no; Draco's eyes were still wide, yes, but there was _sense_ in them now.

"Potter." Draco croaked, gasping, "Can't. Breathe."

"Oh, right." Harry said stupidly, realizing he was still sprawled atop Draco. "Right." Harry's face heated as he rolled off, and he prayed Draco wouldn't notice.

Draco's gaze turned speculative as his breathing slowed to normal. "You know, Potter," he drawled, "you're not nearly as scrawny as you look."

Harry scowled at him. "Right, well. You're clearly fine, now, so I'll see you in the morning." He swung his legs over the edge of Draco's bed.

Draco reached for Harry, snagging the sleeve of his pajama top. "No, Potter – _Harry_. Don't go. I..." Draco looked down, toying with the blanket. "...I'm not fine. Not really. And, I'm sorry. I don't – Idon'twantyoutogo." He said the last bit all in a rush, flushing as red as Harry felt.

"Well..." Harry frowned. He didn't really want to sleep alone either. "Fine. Budge up, then." Harry shoved at Draco until he shuffled over to the other side of the bed. Then Harry snuggled up against him, flinging one arm over Draco's middle.

"Potter..."

"Draco. Shut up."

Harry drifted off to the sound of Draco's muttered grumbles and the reassuring pressure of Draco's icy feet on the backs of his knees.


	7. Ten Points to Gryffindor

Harry POV

Harry groaned as he opened his eyes, the shaft of sunlight that had somehow snuck past the heavy blinds momentarily blinding him. He put a hand up to block it, blinking slowly to clear the spots from his vision. It suddenly occurred to him that he was snuggled up to something warm. Some _one_ warm. He shot out of bed, fumbling for his glasses and flushing as the night before came flooding back to him.

Draco scowled at him. "You don't have to act _quite_ so horrified, Potter. You are the one who snuck into _my_ bed in the middle of the night."

Harry scowled back. "My. Name. Is. Harry. And _excuse_ me for trying to rescue you from what must have been a bloody awful nightmare."

Draco's face crumpled. "You heard me then," he said flatly.

"Yes, and a right scare you gave me, too, howling like that, after I'd just –" Harry clamped his lips together, cutting off the words. _Merlin_. He hadn't meant to say anything about his own dream.

"You were having a nightmare too!"

"Yes."

Draco frowned, but it was a thoughtful frown. "What do _you_ have nightmares about, then?"

Harry stared at him. "Really. What do _I_ have nightmares about? Have you forgotten the last week entirely?"

Guilt stole over Draco's expression. "My father."

Harry snorted. "Please. He's not _that_ scary."

Draco's mouth quirked up at one corner, acknowledging the jibe, but let it go, his gaze fixed unwaveringly on Harry's face.

Harry sighed, relenting. "Werewolves," he said shortly.

Draco's head jerked, his eyes widening. "That's how – "

"That's how they captured me, yes. And no, before you panic, I wasn't bitten."

"I wasn't going to suggest it," Draco said, with injured dignity.

Harry couldn't help but smile. Draco looked so cute when he – _Merlin! What's wrong with me? Draco Malfoy is many things, but cute is_ not _one of them._ The part of his brain that had acknowledged, last night, that he needed the comfort of Draco's presence too, just laughed

Harry rolled his eyes at Draco, who was staring at him warily. "Right. Well, I need a shower. I'll see you in the kitchen in fifteen for breakfast? I'm sure Kreacher's managed something mostly edible – especially since you're here."

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, a slightly damp, but much more awake, Harry bounded down the stairs. He caught the edge of the doorframe as he skidded in. He grinned at Draco and bounced over to him. "'Morning." He grabbed a piece of toast, slathered it with butter and jam, and crunched into it happily.

Draco just stared at him, his own piece of toast frozen halfway to his mouth. Harry noted, with some amusement, that Draco had put at least twice as much jam and butter on his toast as Harry had. He shook his head. _And the git still manages to eat it without getting a crumb or drip anywhere_. Harry brushed self-consciously at the crumbs that now littered the front of his sweater, then shrugged. _Who am I kidding? Its not like messy eating is going to make a difference in his opinion of me, one way or another_. He carefully didn't think of what sort of opinion he wanted Draco to have of him.

Draco shook his head, then dropped his eyes to his toast and continued wordlessly – and very, very neatly – to eat his breakfast.

* * *

Harry stood up, brushed off the crumbs he'd collected, and patted Draco on the back. "Come on – let's go call McGonagall and get this over with." Kreacher appeared with a crack and began clearing away the remains of breakfast as Draco stood and made his way over to Harry. As they reached the door, Harry turned back. "Thanks for breakfast, Kreacher," he called.

Kreacher's back stiffened, but he otherwise didn't react. Draco huffed in exasperation. "Potter – " Harry frowned sternly at him, and Draco rolled his eyes. "Fine. _Harry_. You do not _thank_ a house-elf. Are you _trying_ to antagonize him?" He stopped and stared at Harry. "You are, aren't you. _Honestly_." He stalked towards the study, shoulders held stiffly.

Harry just grinned to himself. _Antagonizing Kreacher and Draco with one sentence. Ten points to Gryffindor – No. Ten points to Harry_. This wasn't a House contest – this was between him and Draco. Just because Draco didn't know he was playing, didn't mean he wasn't in the game.

* * *

Harry rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. He'd forgotten how _exasperating_ it could be, talking to the Headmaster. Well, Headmistress, in this case. But, really, there wasn't much difference. McGonagall had slipped seamlessly into Dumbledore's shoes – Harry didn't envy her; they were big shoes to fill, and most likely pinched – but sometimes he thought she took it a little far. Just because she'd taken over Dumbledore's job didn't mean she had to make the same decisions he would have. But no. She'd absorbed Dumbledore's logic too well. Harry would have to go back to the Dursleys'.

Draco, too, he remembered suddenly. It had taken some convincing, to make McGonagall believe Draco had joined their side. In the end, after Harry had reminded her of Snape – who he knew she found indispensable, and who he suspected she had a bit of a thing for, not that he understood that – she had relented. Not that it changed anything. There was still nowhere for them to go but the bloody Dursleys'.

He wanted to point out that he'd been _at the Dursleys'_ when he'd been abducted, but it wasn't strictly true. He'd gotten fed up with them – and bored besides, without his schoolbooks, which were once again locked up – so he'd gone for a walk. Of course that's when he ran into Greyback. So, _technically_ , it was still safe there. Probably. Well, safe from Voldemort's cronies. But there was the small matter of the Dursleys themselves...

Of course, McGonagall didn't know about that. Dumbledore hadn't either. Oh, Harry was pretty sure Dumbledore had guessed – he was too smart to have missed it entirely. But Harry had never mentioned how they treated him – not to anyone. He wanted to put it behind him. Going back every summer didn't help with that, but... He just wanted to be normal. The last thing he wanted was for word to get out that the "Chosen One" had been abused growing up. They'd never leave him alone, then.

He opened his mouth to mention it now, but the same old arguments chased each other around his head, and he closed his mouth again. He had spent too long not talking about it – he couldn't do it, now that he had the chance. So he sat back and listened while McGonagall droned on about blood protection and family and "only for the summer" and "no one in the Order is available." He let the words wash over him, ignoring them, like he did when Hermione started going on about SPEW and house-elf rights. Like he did when Ginny started going on about the future, back when she thought they'd had a future. He felt a small pang of guilt, for dropping her like that, at the start of summer. But it passed. Mostly he was relieved that she'd let him go.

" – Weasleys, Harry." He tuned back in with a start, looking up at McGonagall sheepishly.

"I'm sorry, what?"

She pointedly refrained from sighing. The complete _lack_ of a sigh hung heavy in the air, and Harry wondered how on earth she managed it. Then he realized his attention was drifting again, and started. He found himself staring into wide gray eyes that crinkled at the edges as he stared.

"Headmistress," Draco said respectfully, "I'm afraid Harry didn't sleep well last night. Nightmares, you know, after..."

McGonagall's face softened. She reached out as if she would pat Harry on the head, even though of course she couldn't, through the floo. "I'm sorry, Harry. Its easy to forget, sometimes, that you're just a teenager, still." Her voice turned brisk. "I'm afraid I don't have anyone I trust enough who's able to come and fetch you boys right now. You'll just have to stay put for a few days until one of the Order members gets back from their mission. You should be relatively safe until then, especially since the House's wards respond to you, Draco. After that, I'm afraid you'll have to stay with the Dursleys for the rest of the summer. I know it's not ideal, Harry, but... well, there's not really another option. It's not that much longer. I'll see you boys again when school starts." She smiled at Harry, obviously attempting to include Draco, but not quite succeeding. "Do try to stay out of trouble."

Then the flames roared and settled in the grate, and Harry and Draco were alone once more.

Harry closed his eyes, massaging his temples. Floo conversations always gave him a headache. "Thanks, Draco. I – "

Draco cut him off. "Yes, yes, you're welcome and all that." He fixed Harry with a penetrating stare. "What did they do to you?"

"What?" Harry looked up, surprised.

"Your family – what did they do to you?"

Harry growled. "They are _not_ my family."

Draco jerked back in surprise. "Alright. Your – the Dursleys, then."

Harry sighed. "Look. I don't – let's not talk about this now. Maybe later..." He shrugged. "You'll see for yourself soon enough."

Draco frowned at him, but wisely chose not to say anything else.


	8. Making Amends

Draco POV

Potter propped his chin in his hands and glowered at the wall, rubbing his temples as if his head pained him. Draco, after trying a few more times to get Potter to talk, with a stony silence his only reward, stared moodily into the fire. _The look on his face, when McGonagall told us we'd have to stay with the Dursleys... Merlin._ Draco dropped his head into his hands. He knew that look. He was intimately familiar with it – it had greeted him in the mirror for years. He'd hoped never to see it again. He felt an overwhelming urge to rub his own temples. He'd been so _sure_ that Potter had had the sort of childhood Draco had dreamed of: indulged, adored, every whim and wish granted. He suddenly remembered an awkward, painfully shy Potter, in Madam Malkin's, when they were eleven. _He didn't know anything about the wizarding world_. Draco was forced to consider that interaction in a new light. _Merlin. I was an idiot. No, I_ am _an idiot. This is my chance to make amends for my former self_. He hesitated, then straightened his shoulders. _Fuck it._

Draco stood, limbs suddenly stiff, and stalked over to the couch Potter was sitting on. "Potter." Potter didn't move. Draco cleared his throat, forced his voice louder. "Harry."

Potter glanced up at him, and for a moment he seemed to actually see Draco. Then Potter's eyes slid away from him again, and he resumed his blank stare. Draco fought the urge to grind his palms into his eyes. "Harry," he said again, insistently. When that got no response, he rolled his eyes heavenward, then flopped down onto the couch next to Potter.

Only, he miscalculated slightly, and flopped rather closer than he meant to. Potter squeaked as Draco landed half in his lap, eyes widening comically behind his lenses, and then they both tumbled to the floor in a tangle of robes and flailing limbs.

Draco caught his breath when he steadied himself against the floor only to find himself nose to nose with Harry. And he was definitely _Harry_ , this close. Draco blinked, trying and failing to escape those hypnotic – and _green_ – eyes. _Merlin. How did I never notice how_ green _his eyes are_? His mouth was suddenly dry, and he licked his lips nervously. His traitorous heart skipped a beat when the tip of Harry's tongue poked out from between his lips a second later and mimicked the action. _I am not attracted to Harry_. Draco told himself firmly. _I am not attracted to Harry. I am not – oh, fuck it. I am so attracted to Harry_. Harry's eyes widened, almost as if he'd heard Draco's thoughts. _They were thoughts, right?_ Draco suddenly panicked. _I didn't say it out loud. Did I? No, surely not._ Then he realized that he didn't need to. His eyes were probably betraying him. _Merlin! This did not go according to plan..._

After another minute of gazing, entranced, into Harry's eyes, Harry broke the moment. _The git._

"Draco," he said, frowning, "any time you're ready?"

Draco panicked for a second, until he realized Harry probably meant that Draco should get off him. _Not... other things_. Draco sighed, in what he firmly told himself was not disappointment, but relief, and rolled to the side. When they'd straightened themselves out, with exaggerated brushing off of imaginary dirt, Harry turned to Draco.

"So," he said, raising one brow in a perfect imitation of Draco at his snootiest, "what was it you wanted so much you were willing to throw yourself into my lap to get it?"

Draco felt a blush suffuse his cheeks, and scowled automatically. Then he remembered what he'd been going to do, before the couch – _it was the couch, dammit_ – sent him reeling into Harry. _I can't call him Potter. Not after that. Whatever that was_. He sighed and forced his face to relax. "I wanted," he said, with as much dignity as he could muster, "to apologize."

Harry sat down abruptly on the couch and stared at him. "Apologize."

"Yes." Draco sniffed. "I am capable of it, you know. And... you've been right all along. I was an insufferable git to you when we first met, in Madam Malkin's, and I continued that way until..." he took a steadying breath, willing his hands to stop shaking. "Until I had had enough of my parents' idiocy and threw in my lot with, well, with the boy I'd intended to throw my lot in with all along. Since we were eleven." He frowned. "No, if I'm being honest, it was earlier than that. Since my parents began regaling me with the tales of how you'd stolen Voldemort's victory and delayed our family's rise to glory."

Draco put his chin in his hand, considering. "I was probably three at the time – at least, that's when I really remember it. They probably started that very day." He shrugged. "I know I was five when I decided to throw my lot in with you – anyone who annoyed the hell out of my parents was an ally, as far as I was concerned." The grin he threw Harry was one he'd never shown anyone outside his mirror – gleeful, conspiratorial, smug. Then his shoulders slumped, as he recalled again his younger self's idiocy. "Then I met you, and it all went wrong, somehow. I'd dreamed of your friendship, you know. When you refused me... I felt all my plans and dreams crumbling. You were supposed to be my ticket out of there, and I alienated you. I didn't know what I'd done, for a long time." He shrugged. "And then it was too late. I'd somehow managed to become your enemy, and so I baited you, just to get some attention. Because I realized it was the only way I'd ever get your attention again."

Draco felt drained. He'd never said any of that out loud before. He'd never even dared think it, for fear of someone skilled in legilimency – as many of Voldemort's followers were – plucking the traitorous thoughts from his mind. His limbs suddenly refused to hold him up, and he slid bonelessly to the floor. He ended cross-legged, face buried in his hands, refusing to look at Harry's face, desperately trying to squash the stubborn hope that reared its head when Harry didn't immediately hex him. A hand landed on his shoulder, and he jumped, then hunched his shoulders, waiting for the blow. But it never came. Instead he found himself hauled into a rough embrace. Draco closed his eyes, soaking in the warmth that he'd wanted since... _since forever._

Harry reached out and tilted Draco's chin up and Draco's eyes flew open. _Merlin, is he really going to..._ But, no, Harry just stared searchingly into his eyes for what felt like an eternity, and then nodded decisively. "I forgive you." Draco closed his eyes, savoring the words he'd dreamed of for years. Then he opened them to check that this was real. That he wasn't dreaming this time. He must have been fairly obvious about it, because when his eyes met Harry's this time, Harry grinned. A full grin, the kind that Draco had seen him give his friends, and secretly wished Harry would give him too. _And now he is._

Then Harry stuck out his hand. "So, friends?"

Draco bit his lip, trying to contain his idiotic grin, then gave up and let it out anyway as he grabbed Harry's hand. "Friends."


	9. Plans

Harry POV

Harry cleared his throat. "So, now what?" he asked, after he judged they'd spent rather enough time beaming at one another.

Draco blinked dazedly at him, eyes slightly glazed. "Hmm?"

"Well...it sounds like we'll be stuck here a few days at least. McGonagall's right – it's probably not safe for us to leave the wards. So... what shall we do?"

Draco's eyes focused abruptly, acquiring a gleam that Harry would once have dismissed as either greedy or malicious. Now... now he wondered how he could have been so blind. It was clearly excitement and mischief in Draco's eyes. This close, he recognized it as a gleam he often saw in Ron's eyes, and his own in the mirror. It was the gleam that was usually followed by an eye roll and lecture from Hermione. Harry felt so much lighter when he realized that that lecture would be absent, this time. His smile widened.

"You know," Harry continued, "I poked around here, a bit, when Sirius first left it to me, but... I didn't really have much enthusiasm for exploring then."

Draco nodded. "And now?"

"Now, I wonder what we might find if we were to go exploring."

Draco's eyes lit up. "I hoped you would say something like that."

"Let's go then." Harry jumped up and started toward the door.

"What, just like that?"

Harry looked back to find Draco still sitting on the couch. "Yes?"

"But... but that won't do at all. This is part of my heritage, Harry. We should at least be _organized_ about it."

Harry sighed, but turned obediently back to the couch. "Honestly, Draco. You're as bad as Hermione."

Draco stared at him. "Oh, surely not. She'd have you make lists, and find books, and do scads of research before you even started. It would take _weeks_."

Harry grinned despite himself. "True, that. Alright, Draco, if you don't intend to be quite as... thorough as Hermione, what do you propose?"

"Well – " Draco paused. "Wait – you're giving in that easily? You're not going to rush off into unknown dangers just because I suggested caution?" His eyebrows climbed towards his hairline.

Harry laughed. "Draco. You're right. I am far too impulsive – that's what got me in trouble with your parents." He shuddered. "Anyway, this _is_ part of your heritage. You have every right to dictate how we explore it."

Draco shook his head. "Astonishing. I should have apologized to you _years_ ago."

"Yes. You should have." Harry knew his expression was strange, both because Draco had caught his breath, and because he didn't know himself what he was feeling – but he could feel the emotions chasing each other across his face, even if he couldn't tell what they were. _Oh, well. From the looks of it, Draco can't either. So there's that._

"Right. Well. I suggest we make a rough map of the house, starting with what you know. It doesn't have to be perfect – we'll add to it as we go. Then we should take a somewhat systematic approach, exploring one room at a time, marking anything interesting on the map. We should probably also designate a space to collect any dangerous or questionable artifacts." He coughed. "If this house is anything like the Manor – and I suspect it may even be worse – then we'll need quite a large space for this. Perhaps an entire room."

Harry nodded. It was a good plan. Much better than the no doubt haphazard approach he would have taken, had he been on his own. "Why collect the dangerous things?"

Draco raised an eyebrow at this. "Harry. It sounds as if we're going to be living here for some days. Do you _really_ want to leave Dark and dangerous artifacts lying around just anywhere the whole time? What happens when you accidentally touch something you shouldn't on the way to the loo in the middle of the night?"

Harry paled. "Right. Good plan." Then he frowned. "What do we do with them after we've collected them? Lock them up, ward the room, and hope they don't get out?"

"We can get Aurors and Curse-Breakers to help us destroy them. Not now, perhaps, but after we defeat Voldemort. Don't you intend to live here, after you've finished school? It's a lovely house, under all the gloom. You could really make something beautiful of it."

Harry stared at him. "You really think I have a chance of defeating Voldemort?"

Draco just looked calmly back. "Yes. I really do."

Harry replayed Draco's words from a moment before. "Hang on – you said we."

Draco colored a bit. "Yes, well, I don't know how much help I'll be, but I'll be by your side. I told you – I always intended to throw my lot in with you. It just took me longer than I'd planned. But I'm here now."

Harry realized he'd slowly moved closer to Draco as they'd been speaking. Now he stood in front of him, looking down as Draco looked earnestly up at him. "Yes. You are."

He watched, as if it were a dream, as his hand reached out and brushed a stray lock of hair from Draco's forehead. He gulped, suddenly needing more oxygen. Draco's hair was so soft, now that he didn't gel it back so severely. Harry ghosted his fingers through the silky strands, tucking them gently behind his ear. He smiled as said ear turned decidedly pink.

Draco opened his mouth, about to speak. Harry held his breath.

And Kreacher appeared beside them with a crack like lightning striking a tree.

Harry stumbled back in surprise, flailing his arms for a moment before regaining his balance. He turned to glare at Kreacher, who seemed completely oblivious to the moment he'd so rudely interrupted. From the corner of his eye, he watched Draco raise a trembling hand to trace the path Harry's fingers had just traveled. He nearly smiled, then remembered Kreacher, and scowled thunderously instead. Kreacher didn't even seem to notice.

"Kreacher is needing to speak with Master Potter," he croaked.

Harry sighed. "What is it, Kreacher?"

"Kreacher is needing to speak with Master Potter, _alone_." Kreacher clarified, jerking his head in Draco's direction and fixing Harry with a stare that made him feel five years old, caught staring out the window when he was supposed to be doing the washing up.

Harry cleared his throat, giving up on the moment. "Er, right. Um. The library then?"

Kreacher considered, tipping his head on one side, then nodding.

Harry looked apologetically at Draco. "Excuse us for a moment, Draco." He turned and strode towards the library, beckoning impatiently for the house-elf to follow him. He was really going to have to do something about Kreacher's insolence. He was Master in this House, dammit, and it was time he acted like it.

He felt Draco's eyes on his back until he closed the library door. When the feeling faded, he felt somehow bereft. He felt his annoyance at the house-elf mounting. "Right, Kreacher. What's so bloody important?"

Kreacher fixed him with an earnest stare, yellow eyes glinting dangerously. "Master Potter is not being a good Master. Kreacher had hoped he was being able to teach Master Potter, but Master Potter is not being able to learn."

Harry thought of his smug teasing this morning, and felt a momentary flash of guilt. Then he remembered that Kreacher had interrupted... whatever he and Draco had been doing, and his annoyance returned to drown the guilt.

"Look, Kreacher – "

Kreacher glared at him. "Master Potter is not interrupting Kreacher!"

Harry felt his mouth drop open, and closed it with a snap. "Er, right. Go on, then."

"Master Potter is not being able or _willing_ to learn how to be a proper Master. So Kreacher has a suggestion. If Master Potter were to be transferring the legal rights to the House to Master Malfoy-Black, then the House would be having a Master in both fact and name. Master Malfoy-Black is being able to learn to be a proper Master." Kreacher's eyes turned crafty. "Then Master Potter is being free of the House." Kreacher nodded and folded his arms, as if to say that _now_ Harry could speak.

But Harry couldn't speak for a moment. He stood frozen, considering. It would solve all of their problems. Kreacher was right. Harry _didn't_ want to be Master of the Black House, not really. Freedom sounded good. He knew the House needed a proper Master, and it sounded as if Draco could be that. And Draco... Draco needed a home, now that he'd given up the Manor. And he'd said that it could be beautiful.

It struck Harry, then, how much Draco had given up, when he'd snatched Harry from his parents' dungeon. Not just his family – his home, his past, his history. All of the artifacts and family heirlooms. He knew Draco cared deeply about his family history. And Harry had, all unwittingly, stripped him of all of it. And he'd never get it back. But this way... this way he could give Draco a piece of his family history. His mother _had_ been a Black – this house really _should_ have gone to Draco. It was only Sirius' disregard for the House and Pureblood rules that had sent the House into Harry's hands, instead.

He sighed. "All right, Kreacher. I'll talk to him about it. And if he wants it, then, yes, I'll sign the house over to Draco."


	10. Dark Mark

Draco POV

Draco stared at the library door, behind which Kreacher and Harry were discussing something secret. He felt he really ought to be offended by this, but he was still in shock from the conversation that Kreacher had interrupted. Harry had been standing so bloody close, and he had smelled so bloody good, and... _Merlin, You've got it bad, Draco_. He sighed. He _knew_ nothing would ever come of it. _He's Harry fucking Potter, Savior of the Wizarding World – or will be – and I'm Draco fucking Malfoy, Death Eater. Well, former Death Eater. Like anyone's really going to care._

Draco angrily yanked his sleeve up, exposing the ugly black lines of the Dark Mark. _This is all anyone will ever care about. It doesn't matter that I didn't want to take it. The only reason Harry has been as nice to me as he has is that he hasn't seen this. But who am I kidding – he'll see it eventually. Hell, Draco, you don't even know if he likes men_. He thought of the Weaselette, who'd been hanging on Harry's arm, the last time he'd seen them. _Who am I kidding – he's probably still shagging her. And I – I let myself see things that aren't there, just because I want them to be. He's offered me his friendship – well, I'll enjoy that, while it lasts. Which will be until he sees_ this. Draco wrenched the sleeve back down, nearly tearing it. He bit his lip, fiercely willing the tears away. Harry would no doubt be back soon. _He'll ask why I'm crying. Stupid fucking Gryffindor._

Unless... unless that's what Kreacher wanted to talk to him about. Draco closed his eyes, suddenly certain. _Merlin. I should have realized the bloody house-elf would notice the Dark Mark. They can probably sense it_. He tasted salt on his lips, and realized that the tears had fallen after all. _That's that, then. I won't be welcome back at Hogwarts, come fall. I certainly won't be welcome with the Dursleys. Or the Order. For that matter, I won't be welcome here. He swallowed. It was nice while it lasted, Harry. Thank you for giving me, if only for a moment, what I've always wanted._

Draco swiped at his eyes and stood. It was time to pack. With any luck, he'd be gone before Harry could confront him. He could save them both the indignity of that.

* * *

"Draco?"

Draco closed his eyes. _Damn. Wasn't fast enough_. He steeled himself, placing the neatly folded shirt carefully into his trunk, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles, trying to buy himself some time. For what, he had no idea. There was nowhere to run. _This is it_. He turned, slowly, towards Harry – _no, better call him Potter, now. The faster you forget Harry, the less it will hurt_. He didn't open his eyes. He didn't want to see Potter's condemnation, his rejection. _If I don't see it, I can pretend it's not there. If I don't look in his eyes, I can remember them like they were when... when he smiled at me_. He would have that one shining memory to savor, to shove away the darkness that tainted all the rest.

"Draco. Why are your eyes shut?"

_Stupid observant Potter. How did I ever think I could hide my Mark from you?_

"Draco?"

"Yes?" Draco's voice was barely audible: a thin, reedy whisper. He was afraid he would shatter, if he made more noise than that.

He felt a hesitant touch on his arm – his _left_ arm, and he had to work to hold back the sob. Harry's hand was warm on his arm, and the Dark Mark burned just below it, and Draco wasn't sure which hurt more. He tried to wrench his arm from Harry's grasp, but the git wouldn't let go. And then he slid his hand _lower_ , until it rested directly over the Dark Mark. Draco's arm was on fire with the combined heat of Harry and the Dark Mark... and then the fire flared higher, and it was Fiendfyre – it had to be, to burn this hot – and Draco was burning...

* * *

Draco blinked, slowly, and stared at the ceiling. He rather thought his arm should be burning, but there was only a tingling and not-all-together-unpleasant warmth where he expected pain. He frowned, flexing his fingers.

"You're awake, then."

Draco started up, only to be pressed gently back into the bed.

"No, I'll not have you hurt yourself again. I've eased the pain, but you'll be weak for awhile yet."

"What – " Draco's voice cracked; he cleared his throat, tried again. "What happened?"

Harry's mouth twisted wryly. "Your parents must have told Voldemort that we escaped."

Draco flicked nervous eyes to his arm – sure enough, his sleeve had been pushed up. The Dark Mark stood out starkly against his ghost-pale skin. He closed his eyes, defeated. "You know, then."

"Hey." Harry touched his cheek. Draco's eyes startled open. "Look at me." His voice was soft, but there was steel beneath the silk. "I know, Draco. I know you have the Mark. I know you didn't want it."

"But – "

"Shh. Listen to me." Harry placed a gentle finger against Draco's lips, shushing him. "I've done what I can to ease the pain – it should stop on its own fairly soon. Voldemort doesn't usually keep the Marks burning for longer than a few hours at a time."

"How do you know all this?"

"Snape is a double agent – a member of the Order. Dumbledore trusted him completely; I'm fairly certain McGonagall does too. He's the one who gave me this stuff. He brews it himself – says it's the only thing that makes the pain bearable." Harry held up a small vial.

Draco stared at him, brows lifted. " _Snape_ is a member of the Order? No, never mind that for now. Why in Merlin's name did he give you _that_? If anyone found out he uses it to dull the pain of the Mark..."

Harry gave him another twisted smile. "Ah. As to that, he apparently sells the stuff to other Death Eaters who aren't as keen for their own pain as they are for others'. Like your father." His eyes twinkled in faint amusement. "As to why he gave it to me, well..." He brushed back his fringe, exposing his famous scar. "Turns out this is more than just a scar. It... connects us. Voldemort and I. Have you heard of horcruxes?"

Draco drew in a sharp breath. "Horcrux _es_?"

"You have. Good – that makes this easier. That's part of what the Order is doing – searching out and destroying Voldemort's horcruxes – he has seven, by the way."

"Seven!" Draco was shocked. To split your soul _seven_ times...

Harry coughed. "Yes, well. Interesting fact – only six were intentional. The seventh... well, the seventh is me."

 _And here I thought he was being melodramatic last year_. " _You_ are a horcrux?"

"Yes." Harry seemed distinctly embarrassed. "When his curse backfired...I dunno exactly what happened, except part of him ended up in me. So, when he makes your Mark burn, my scar burns too." Harry tapped the scar. "That's why Snape gave me this. I thought I was going crazy. Especially with the visions."

"Visions?"

"Er, yes. Sometimes I see what's happening, where Voldemort is. I, er, saw you, actually. I saw how unwilling you were to torture those people." Harry scratched at the back of his neck. "Incidentally, I was there when you didn't kill Dumbledore. I was under the invisibility cloak – Dumbledore immobilized me. He wanted me to see why he trusted Snape – why he trusted you. I didn't understand, then. I think I do, now."

Draco just stared at him. "So... you aren't going to throw me out?"

Harry reared back. "What? Whyever would I do that? Is that why you were packing?"

"Well..." Draco looked at the Dark Mark again. Harry followed his gaze.

" _Merlin_ , Draco. I'm not going to throw you out because you were forced to take the Mark. I just told you – I _know_ why you took it. I trust Snape. And... I trust you."

Harry's eyes were terribly earnest, and Draco felt again that he could drown in them.

"You – I can stay?"

Harry smiled. "Yes, Draco, you can stay."

Draco smiled back. He knew it was a silly, sentimental sort of smile. And he didn't care. But then he remembered why he'd gotten upset in the first place. "But, Harry, if that's not what Kreacher wanted to talk to you about, then..."

Harry smacked his forehead. "Oh. Right. Well... He doesn't think I'll make a good Master." He held up a hand to stop Draco from speaking. "And, he's right. I _won't_ make a good Master. I probably could – if I wanted to. I didn't ask Sirius to give me this House. I thought I could be Master, in his memory. But, Draco, I think Kreacher's right. It would be better for the House if someone else were Master. Someone, well, like you."

Draco stared at him. "Me?"

"Yes. You're Pureblood. You know how a House like this should be run. You think it could be beautiful – you see potential, Draco, where I just see a moldering hulk of Dark Magic that drove my Godfather mad. Hell, you've even got Black blood, through your mother. The House doesn't need me, Draco. It needs _you_."

"What are you saying, Harry?" Draco's voice shook.

"That's what Kreacher wanted to talk to me about – signing the House over to you. Making it legally yours. You've got the name already, and the blood, and the heritage. And I've taken so much of your heritage from you." Harry looked down at his hands. "This way – this way I could give you something back. So... what do you say?" He looked back up at Draco, biting his lip.

"No. Absolutely not, Harry. I won't take your House from you!"

"Not even if I give it willingly? Hell, Draco. I'm probably not going to survive this war. Before he died, Dumbledore told me... I think I have to die, Draco. It's why Dumbledore worked so hard to keep me alive. Why it didn't matter so much what the Dursleys did to me, so long as I was _safe_ there. So long as they kept me alive until the moment my death would make a difference. I have to face Voldemort, but I'm not going to come out of that confrontation alive. That's what nobody understands. I won't be a conquering hero – I'll be dead. The trick is to make sure _he's_ dead, too. I – I want to make sure you'll have somewhere to go, after. If I can't be there to protect you from stupid people who'll attack you because of that Mark on your arm – and you know there are those that will – at least I can give you somewhere that you can be safe from them."

Draco felt his mind shying away from Potter's words. _He expects to_ die _in this battle. How long has he expected that? Merlin – how long have I been taunting him about it, without knowing_... He realized, faintly, that he was slipping out of consciousness. It was just all too much...


	11. Another Path

Kreacher POV

Kreacher frowned as he watched Master Potter fussing over Master Malfoy-Black's unconscious form. Master Potter solemnly arranged the blankets, tucking them around Master Malfoy-Black's body. He sat at the edge of the bed, gazing intently at Master Malfoy-Black. Then he leaned in, brushed the hair off Master Malfoy-Black's forehead, and pressed a tender kiss to the skin thus revealed.

Kreacher stood stunned for a long minute, then whirled in place and apparated silently away. He only employed the loud crack to annoy Master Potter. And, anyway, he was attempting to be stealthy.

He reappeared in the kitchen, and soothed his frazzled nerves by whisking into a frenzy of baking, banging together the pots and pans with a bit more force than strictly necessary.

"Master Potter is agreeing. And then Master Malfoy-Black is ruining it all. He is refusing. _Refusing_." And what followed that refusal... Kreacher banged a few more pots together. Somewhat mollified, he returned to his rant. "Master Potter is _not_ being suited to this House. Master Malfoy-Black _is_. Why is he refusing? Why should he be caring what Master Potter thinks? And _why_ is Master Potter _kissing_ him?"

Kreacher paused in the act of banging pots together. "Unless..."

He spun into action once more, moving twice as fast as before, the center of a whirling maelstrom of kitchen implements and utensils. Cooking was always a form of stress relief – not that it was helping just now – though he would never admit how much he enjoyed it. His hands flew faster than the eye could see – whipping, mixing, kneading, stirring, chopping, pouring, measuring; spoons and forks and knives and plates and bowls and pans skittered around the kitchen, whisking in and out of the ovens. Cupboards banged open and shut and open – and Kreacher's mind flew faster still.

"Unless Kreacher is finding a way to push them together. Unless they are _both_ being Masters of the House." Kreacher's eyes widened. He'd never considered the possibility – he'd never guessed his teasing leer had skirted the edge of truth! – but now it unfolded before him, a vast, gleaming expanse of possibility. To have not one, but _two_ Masters. Twice the power; twice the wealth. Twice the strength. Yes. Two masters were ideal. Kreacher's former plans and schemes paled and then fell to dust around him.

He nodded abruptly, and all movement in the kitchen ceased. He flicked his fingers, vanishing the mess, cleaning and stowing the dishes, preserving the food for later. He would have to make another visit to the House's libraries and storage rooms. He had plans to make.


	12. A Better Path

Black House POV

The Most Ancient and Noble House of Black was pleased. Its plans were progressing nicely. It smugly congratulated itself on the stroke of sheer brilliance which was the couch. The couch that had bucked and shifted under Master Malfoy-Black, sending him sprawling into Master Potter. The couch that had thus set in motion a chain of events that, if the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black had anything to do with it, would end with the creation of _two_ Master Blacks.

The Most Ancient and Noble house of Black, after many hours of careful deliberation, had determined that this was the best course to pursue. Master Potter was strong, but volatile. Master Malfoy-Black lacked Master Potter's sheer strength, but made up for it with his rigid self-control. Either would be a fitting Master. Together, they would surpass any Master the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black had ever known.

The Most Ancient and Noble House of Black was also curious. Dark magic had permeated it, over the generations, molding and shaping it, slowly giving rise to something akin to consciousness. The Most Ancient and Noble House of Black had discovered that, with both boys present, it felt _alive_ in a way it never had before. And the Most ancient and Noble House of Black was surprised to discover that it _liked_ it.

Yes. Both boys must therefore be convinced to stay. Now that the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black had gotten a taste of what it would be like, with two Masters, it was greedy; it wanted more. Nothing else would do. So the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black began to plan.

The Most Ancient and Noble House of Black felt it, when Kreacher came to the same conclusion. And the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black laughed to itself, amused at how long it had taken the poor house-elf to wake up. But, then, it was so small. It could not be expected to know as much as the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black. It could be forgiven its oversight and blindness.

The Most Ancient and Noble House of Black called on its deepest and Darkest magics, the ones that slept at its heart. It ran tendrils of intent through every room and every piece of furniture within its walls. It sent invisible puffs of magic wafting through the air. It whispered into the walls, the floors, the wards.

And then the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black settled in to watch and wait.


	13. A Malfoy's Hair Is Never Frizzy

Draco POV

Draco stretched his arms, groaning, reveling in the soft slide of sheets against his skin. He didn't open his eyes, carefully not thinking of anything except the lazy feeling of waking up far later than he usually did. His arm didn't hurt – he felt, distantly, that it should, though he pushed the thought away before he could examine it. It was far too close to... other things he didn't wish to remember.

Then his arm brushed against... something. Something warm. _Don't think about it don't think about it don't_ – but it was too late. His eyes blinked open, no matter how hard he screamed at himself to keep them shut. Grey eyes met languid green ones, disheveled mop of hair, lazy smile... and it all came rushing back. Draco shut his eyes tight against the suddenly too-bright glare. He curled into a ball, willing himself to disappear. Willing Potter to go away.

After a tense moment in which nothing happened, curiosity got the better of him. He cracked one eye open, only to see Potter's smile deepen into a smirk. _Dammit_.

"Potter..."

"Draco. The least you could do is call me _Harry_."

"...fine. _Harry_."

"Yes?"

"Shut up."

Harry started laughing. _The git_. And then something in Draco cracked, and he felt his own laughter bubble out.

Harry sobered. "How's your arm?"

Draco looked down. "I... fine. It doesn't hurt."

Harry nodded. "Good."

"Is it?" Draco panicked. "What if they know where we are? What if they're coming for us _right now._ What if – "

"Draco." Harry put a finger against Draco's lips, neatly silencing his frantic babbling.

Draco meant to say "yes." _I did_. But the word died on his lips, and instead, to his utter mortification, he kissed Harry's finger gently. Then he curled up in a ball again.

After a moment of stunned silence, in which Draco employed every curse word he'd ever learnt, and some he made up on the spot, Harry snorted.

"Did you just kiss me?"

Draco forgot to be mortified. "That was _not_ a kiss."

"No?" Harry raised one eyebrow, clearly disbelieving.

"No. _This_ is a kiss."

And Draco did the single most utterly stupid thing of his entire life. He grabbed Harry's shirt collar, dragged him close, and kissed him. _Really_ kissed him.

And it. Was. Fantastic.

When he finally pulled away, Harry had turned an interesting shade of crimson.

"Ah," he said, rather more eloquently than Draco had expected. And then, "Er," as he raised a shaking finger to his lips, touching them wonderingly.

Draco snorted at the bumbling idiot, even as he failed to keep his own lips from splitting into a wide grin.

"And _that_ is how you kiss, Potter," he said, imitating the snooty tone that he had once used as a matter of course.

He looked up to meet Harry's eyes, just in time to see him blink slowly. "...Harry." He corrected mildly. And then his lip quirked, just a bit, and Draco felt his own lips quirk to match, and then they were both beaming like fools.

Draco's cheeks were beginning to ache from all the smiling, but he didn't care. _This is what I've been missing_ , he thought, amazed. I _t's no wonder it's taken me so long to find it. Who would have thought – Harry fucking Potter_. And then his mind started rearranging the words, and he felt his cheeks heating.

Harry smirked at him, a knowing glint in his eye. "Maybe later," he quipped, deadpan.

Draco blushed furiously. "How – "

Harry shrugged. "I may be pants at legilimency, but you're damn easy to read, when you let your mask drop."

"Oh."

Harry grinned, slapping him on the back and making him wince. "Come on, Draco. Fun as this is, I'm famished. Breakfast?"

"Breakfast." _Breakfast is safe, anyway. Not like this... whatever this is._

"Right. Er. I'll just get dressed then. See you in ten?"

"Fifteen," Draco drawled, finding it surprisingly easy to slip into baiting Harry, " _Some_ of us actually care what we look like."

Harry just grinned at him. "Whatever. Don't take too long, or I'll eat all the good stuff. Wouldn't want you to waste away because you were too busy primping to eat."

Harry launched himself from the bed, ignoring Draco's annoyed gasp. "I do _not_ primp!" Draco shouted after him. Harry's laughter, floating down the hall, was his only answer. "I don't." Draco said petulantly, frowning at himself in the mirror. Then he realized he was wasting time, and hurriedly got up. His hair wouldn't wash itself.

Fifteen minutes later, Draco found himself pelting down the stairs, two at a time, rubbing frantically at his hair with his towel. He _was_ hungry, and he wasn't entirely sure that Harry had been joking about eating all the good stuff. There had been some very questionable porridge in their breakfast spread yesterday, and Harry's refusal to touch it – when he'd tucked into everything else like he'd not seen food in days (which he hadn't, but that wasn't the point – Harry _always_ ate like that, not that Draco had been watching or anything) – made Draco leery of it. He just _knew_ that Harry would have eaten everything else, if Draco didn't get there in time.

He burst into the kitchen – _much as Harry did yesterday_ , his brain reminded him – to find Harry calmly eating a piece of toast. There was enough food spread on the table to feed ten of them, and Draco felt more than a little foolish. Harry looked up at him, some no doubt snarky comment on his lips, and stared, openmouthed. His toast was frozen halfway to his mouth, and he just blinked at Draco. Draco quickly grew impatient. "What?"

Harry closed his mouth. "Um, Draco?"

"What?"

"You, er, haven't looked in a mirror, by chance?"

"No. I was in too much of a hurry. Why?" Draco felt a prickle of misgiving at the odd expression on Harry's face. He looked around for a mirror, but there didn't seem to be any in the kitchen. He was about to turn and go back upstairs, when Harry conjured a mirror and handed it to him. He didn't speak. Draco felt the prickle deepen into stabs of panic. _What in Merlin's name could be so – Oh_. He stared at his reflection in horror. This was... oh, this was too much.

Draco dropped the mirror in shock. Harry, apparently expecting this, cast a quick cushioning charm before it could shatter on the kitchen floor. Draco could appreciate, distantly, his reflexes.

The silence stretched thin between them. Harry fidgeted, biting his lip, waiting. Draco was too shocked to do more than numbly make note of it. Then it snapped. Harry, never one for patience, was the one to break it. "Draco? It's not a big deal. Come here – I can fix it."

"Not a big deal? My life is over."

Harry, cretin that he was, just laughed. "Seriously. Everything you've been through, with Voldemort, and your parents, and the Dark Mark, and you're giving up because your hair's gone frizzy?"

Draco moaned. "Frizzy. A proper Malfoy's hair is never _frizzy_."

Harry just grinned. "Hmm. Good thing you're not really a proper Malfoy anymore, huh?"

Draco just sighed.

"Oh, come here." Harry sounded exasperated, but not too upset. Draco moved toward him, still numb with shock, and allowed Harry to drag him into a chair.

He stared blankly as Harry conjured a comb, muttered a few spells, and then gently began to run the comb through Draco's hair. It felt _heavenly_. He whimpered softly as Harry bent to press a few kisses on his neck.

"There. Done." Harry sounded far too proud of himself. Draco really ought to do something about that. But he couldn't bring himself to move.

"Why'd you stop?" He asked, frowning slightly.

Harry snorted. "Look for yourself." He flicked his fingers, conjuring another mirror in front of Draco.

 _Wandless_. Draco noted, _and nonverbal_. He was impressed despite himself. Then he looked in the mirror, and breathed a sigh of relief. "Oh, thank _God_." He met Harry's eyes in the mirror. They were twinkling worse than Dumbledore's ever had. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it. Now eat up – we've got some exploring to do." Harry shoved the paper he'd been looking at over to Draco.

It was a map of the House. There were plenty of blank spaces – Harry clearly hadn't been terribly interested in exploring the House, last time he'd been here – but it was enough to give Draco a general sense of where they should probably start. He felt the familiar excitement curl through him, at the prospect of a puzzle to solve. "Very nice." He grinned, and Harry grinned back, eyes gleaming with excitement. _This is going to be_ fun.


	14. Storage Room, Part 1

_**Aaaand I'm already late. Sorry. :-/ This week has been... not the best. I was waiting to write the second half of this, but maybe I'll post this as part 1, and put part 2 up no later than Monday.** _

Harry POV

Harry swore softly as he banged his shin on yet another bloody useless coffee table. "Dracoooo," he whined, "Can't we call it a day, or at least a morning? It's got to be past lunchtime – I'm starving!"

Draco huffed. "Fine." He blew a strand of pale hair out of his eyes, and Harry stood, transfixed, as it fluttered.

"Harry?"

He shook his head, shaking off the strange compulsion to tuck the strand behind Draco's ear, and turned to wade back through the junk cluttering the room. "Why do Purebloods insist on keeping so much _crap_?" he asked, exasperated, as an incredibly ugly table threatened to fall on him.

"The Blacks do seem to have been more prone to packrat tendencies than most Pureblood families," Draco agreed. "I wonder – "

Harry turned back, frowning, when Draco's voice abruptly stopped, expecting to find him staring raptly at some ugly chair or something, historical lecture on his lips. He was momentarily distracted by the thought of those lips, curving up into those shy and delightful smiles Draco had started showing him… and then he remembered that he was looking for the real Draco, and tried his best to shove his imaginary Draco out of his head. _His_ Draco. He wished, suddenly, that it could be true – in real life as well as his increasingly disturbing fantasies, and felt his face heat as he was forced to admit it to himself: He was attracted to Draco. To _Malfoy_ , the constant pain in his side since they were eleven. Malfoy had always managed to get under his skin, to get a reaction from Harry when no one else could. Draco still had that ability – he just caused a different reaction now. Harry felt his thoughts spinning out of control, felt himself getting lost in the what-ifs. He needed something to eat. Failing that, he needed something solid to keep him grounded.

Harry swept his arm over the piece of furniture that appeared suddenly before him, fingers questing before his mind fully caught up. Before he had time to wonder what he was doing, his fingers were closing around an object that had been sitting on top of the table. Waiting for him. He scowled and felt a shiver run up his spine. There hadn't been anything on top of any of the other furniture. They'd checked. He couldn't tell what it was – just that it fit comfortably into the palm of his hand, all buttery-smooth wood and gentle contours. And it pulsed with magic.

He nearly dropped the thing in revulsion, but found that his fingers wouldn't loosen their hold. He began to sweat with the effort of unclenching the hand. Nothing. And then he remembered Draco. Draco, who hadn't made a sound since his abruptly silenced wondering. Draco, who, Harry was suddenly certain, _wasn't in this room anymore_.

So Harry did the only thing he could think of. He strode quickly across the room, unmindful of the corners that banged his shins, the table legs that seemed to reach out to trip him. He could _feel_ where Draco had been standing, could feel his feet unerringly take him there. He didn't question how he knew; the most important thing to do was to find out where Draco had gone, and how to bring him back. Harry realized, abruptly, that he no longer wished to be alone. He'd thought he wanted silence and solitude, but it seemed what he really wanted was sniping and snarking, witty repartee and childish insults, and that unique combination of sneers and smiles that Harry had never found anywhere else. That he'd never known he wanted, and now knew he could never live without.

He reached the spot where Draco had stood, still shaken from his sudden realizations, and frowned. It looked like any other spot in this godforsaken storage room. Where the ugliest furniture in the House – possibly the entire wizarding world – came to die. He poked and prodded at everything he could reach, studied the carvings, the floorboards, the ceiling.

Nothing. It was like Draco had never stood here. Never said…

Harry started. He'd almost forgotten. He clenched his fingers around the small statue he was holding, reached out to touch the carving in front of him, just as he could see Draco doing, in his mind, and whispered, "I wonder…"

And then the room was spinning around him, and Harry clutched the statue like it was a lifeline, like it was his only way back.

 _And maybe,_ his thoughts whispered, _that's not so far from the truth._

Harry landed with a thump, sprawling inelegantly on the floor.

And then he heard the most welcome sound he could imagine, and felt the tension drain out of him.

"Well, Potter," sneered Draco, prodding him with the toe of his shoe, "I'm almost impressed. I've not seen anyone come out of apparition _quite_ so clumsily."

Harry sighed. "Can it, Malfoy." Then he frowned and sat up, shoving away his sudden exhaustion. "Wait – apparition?"

"Yeah. Didn't you recognize it?"

"No." Harry frowned. "Well, sort of, I guess. But it was different somehow." He looked down at his hand, still clutched around the small statue, and sighed with relief. He hadn't lost it, then.

"Harry?"

He looked up warily. "Yes?"

"What are you holding?"

He debated baiting Draco, but he was too tired for that, really. So he just held out his hand, forcing his fingers to uncurl enough that Draco could see it.

"Oh!" Draco's breath caught, and he had to work to keep some of his excitement from his voice. "Well, done Harry. You found it!"

"Found _it?"_ Harry was puzzled. "What's it? Were we looking for something in particular?"

"Yes and no." Draco said absently, still studying the statue. "May I?"

Harry was strangely reluctant to let go of it, but he trusted Draco, so he sternly commanded his fingers to relax, and eventually they did.

Draco was watching him oddly. "It's strong then." He said, as if this would make sense to Harry. Who was still utterly baffled.

"Uh, Draco?"

"Hmmm?"

"Would you just look at me for a second!"

Draco turned to him, forehead creased , "Sorry, Harry. What were you asking?"

"What is that thing? Where are we? Why did I find that, and why was it so difficult to hand it to you? And when are we going to have lunch?" Harry paused, panting, and was surprised to find his fists clenched by his sides.

Draco just laughed, which only fueled Harry's frustrated anger. He glared at him. "Draco…"

"Oh, here. You'll be impossible to talk to until you've some food in you." Draco fished around in his pocket, withdrawing a shrunken apple and sandwich, which he restored to their original size before lobbing them at a surprised Harry, and then an identical meal for himself.

Then he plopped unceremoniously down in the grass. Harry just stared at him. "Well," Draco said, suddenly flustered, "come on then."

Harry stood, turning the apple over in his hands. It had never occurred to him that you could shrink _food_. Suddenly life seemed so much simpler. Draco startled him out of his thoughts.

"Come _on,_ Harry. Sit down and eat before you fall over."

Harry felt his knees buckle and abruptly dropped onto the ground beside Draco. After a second where they both stared at one other in surprise, Harry shrugged and bit into the apple. He half expected it to taste of sawdust, and was relieved to find that it tasted of apple instead, exactly as it should.

"So…" he prompted, after they'd both finished their meal.

Draco tapped his fingers idly on his knees, which Harry had quickly learned meant he was thinking, and interrupting would only provoke him to insults. He quelled his patience and forced himself to sit still, idly twisting blades of grass together, while he waited for Draco to speak.


	15. Storage Room, Part 2

**_Credit for the "Object of Affection" - and thus the inspiration for the chapter - to the lovely hydromiss (on fanfiction.net). Thanks for being the wall I bounce my ideas off of - and for bouncing back even better ones._ **   


Harry POV

… _He quelled his impatience and forced himself to sit still, idly twisting blades of grass together, while he waited for Draco to speak._

Harry frowned, and forgot not to speak. “Draco?”

Draco rolled his eyes, which, Harry supposed, wasn’t all that bad, considering. “Yes, Harry?”

Harry held up the grass blades. “Why is there grass?”

Draco looked taken-aback. “I – hadn’t noticed. Huh.” He frowned down at the ground, affronted.

Harry hid a smile. “So, it, uh, didn’t look like this when you first got here?”

“No.” Draco sniffed. “It was a perfectly good hidden storage room until you showed up and mucked it up. Honestly, Potter. Do you _try_ to be this disruptive? Or does it just come naturally – like that horrid mop of hair?”

Harry grinned. He’d gotten used to Draco’s teasing, and he recognized the gleam in his eyes, now. Not that he’d ever expected to think such a thing, much less find it was true, but he was growing accustomed to it. _Merlin. I even find his little digs_ funny _now. It’s a good thing Ron’s not here._ He tried to drag his attention back to the conversation. “So… hidden storage room, eh?”

Draco rolled his eyes again. “Yes. They’re standard in a Pureblood House. You fill the decoy storage room with all the stuff no one would ever want, make it completely unappealing, and then hide all the really _interesting_ things, er, behind it. Sort of.” He waved his hands vaguely. “Wizardspace, you know.”

Harry scratched the back of his neck. “Yeah… kinda. Hermione mentioned it a few times, but…”

“I’m sure she thought it was a _fascinating theory_.” Draco’s eyes flashed wickedly, and Harry couldn’t suppress his grin. Even if it was at his friend’s expense.

“Yeah. Ron and I sort of glaze over when she really gets going. If it’s important, she’ll remind us later.”

Draco snorted. “Honestly, Harry. Granger must be a saint to put up with the two of you.”

Harry stared, and Draco colored as he realized what he’d said. “I mean, you’re alright, I suppose, but Weasley is _hopeless_.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, I was looking around at all the _interesting_ artifacts, _being careful not to touch them_ ,” he looked pointedly at his hand, which was still wrapped around the thing Harry’d brought, “and then you appeared, and we were both, well, here.” He frowned down at the grass again. “I’m afraid that’s all I’ve got at the moment.”

“Hang on.” Harry glared at him. “ _You’re_ touching it too, genius.”

Draco looked down at it, as if he’d not realized that. “Well, yes. But you’ve already touched it. It’s not like I could make this any worse.”

Harry snorted. “Sure. Incidentally, can I have that back, now? Please?” he added, when Draco hesitated.

“Oh, all right. Here you go.” Draco’s tone was flippant, but Harry noticed that his fingers were just as reluctant to let go of it as Harry’s had been. He felt smug, as if he’d won…something.

“So, what is it?” Harry stared down at the object. It was really quite ordinary-looking. It fit perfectly into the palm of his hand, like it’d been made with him in mind. Though, it had seemed to fit Draco’s hand perfectly too. Maybe their hands were the same size? For some reason, that thought felt…strange. Good-strange, he thought, but strange all the same. He couldn’t tell what it was shaped like, exactly, though it felt familiar, somehow. It was carved from some kind of stone. No, wood? Stone? Something between the two? _Merlin, it shouldn’t be hard to tell if it’s wood or stone!_ But it was. Anyway, it was smooth, almost silky to the touch, and a warm buttery-honey-gold. It was lovely and he never _ever_ wanted to let go.

“Should I leave you two alone?” Draco’s dry voice cut through his musing.

 _"_ Er, sorry.” Harry felt himself blush.

“Merlin, Harry. You do make it easy.” Draco’s voice was warm now, fizzing with barely-suppressed laughter. “It’s an artifact – a Dark one.”

Harry stared at him. “Sorry, did you say a _Dark_ artifact?”

“Yes. It’s an Object of Affection.”

Harry blinked, then blinked again. Draco’s expression didn’t change. “Hang on – you can’t be serious. That’s just – ”

“I am serious. That thing,” he gave it a dark look, “is _highly_ illegal. I didn’t know they existed anymore, actually.” He snorted. “Though, I suppose it doesn’t surprise me that the Blacks kept one around. Nasty magic – quite insidious.”

Harry tried to drop it, still half-certain Draco was pulling his leg, but found he couldn’t make his fingers uncurl. “I – Draco! I can’t let go!”

“No.” He was really being far too calm about this. “I’m surprised you could even hand it to me. Unless…” He looked up at Harry through his lashes, eyes far too cunning. “How do you really feel about me, Harry?”

Harry was getting tired of blushing, but he couldn’t seem to stop. “I…er…”

Draco nodded. “Right, well, that makes things a bit easier.” He leaned forward abruptly.

“Draco!” Harry scrabbled backward. “What are you doing? And _what is this thing?”_

Draco sighed.

Harry thought it was the sort of sigh that really ought to be recorded and put into the dictionary as the very _definition_ of ‘sigh.’ _Maybe I hit my head. A concussion – oh, or a hallucination! – seems far more likely than this being real._ Harry dropped his head into his hands. _Why did the thought of this not being real make me_ sad?

“I was going to kiss you. Honestly, Harry. We’ve kissed before, remember?”

“I – yes, but – ” He’d thought Draco had regretted that. They hadn’t mentioned it again, and Draco had carefully avoided touching him since, or even getting too close. Harry had spent the last few days pretending, as hard as he could, that he didn’t care – that it had been such a non-event for him that he’d forgotten it. And that it hadn’t been the best kiss of his life. _Not that I’d be bloody likely to forget that!_

“Harry.” Draco spoke slowly, as if he thought Harry were especially thick. Which, now Harry thought about it, wasn’t entirely unlikely. “An Object of Affection is… well, it sort of homes in on whoever you’re most attracted to.”

Harry thought of how he’d immediately sensed where Draco had been standing, and that he wasn’t in the room any longer, and felt his stomach give a queasy little lurch. “That doesn’t sound too bad…”

“No,” Draco said thoughtfully, “but it also shoves you together with that person until you confess those feelings, act on them, or both. It depends on the strength of your affection for them, their feelings for you, and the particular way the artifact was designed.”

“…Oh.” Harry’s voice was very small.

“Oh, indeed.”

They stared at one another. A gentle breeze tickled Harry’s face, stirring his hair. It felt wonderful, after sitting in the sun. And all the blushing he’d been doing. Of course, it also stirred Draco’s hair. And that did odd things to Harry’s insides. He finally spoke, just to distract himself from the swarm of butterflies that inexplicably seemed to have chosen his stomach as the perfect spot for an impromptu dance.

“So, that means…”

“That means, Harry, that we’re stuck here, until we fulfill the demands of that thing you’re clutching.”

Harry, being a Gryffindor – and still being hungry, despite the sandwich – decided to seize the moment. He leaned forward, tangled his fingers in Draco’s hair – _which felt fucking fantastic! –_ and yanked him forward for a bruising, decidedly uncomfortable kiss.

Draco, being a Slytherin, – and not inclined to being mauled – put his hands on Harry’s cheeks, nipped his lower lip in punishment, and, when Harry opened his mouth to protest such rough treatment, slipped his tongue into Harry’s mouth and took control of the kiss. And that was even better.

Harry, completely out of his depth, but not about to admit it, reached forward with the hand holding the artifact. Draco’s hand reached out to meet it, and they tangled their fingers together, pressing the artifact between their palms.

There was a not-entirely-pleasant sucking sensation, a whooshing in their ears that they hardly noticed, and they were dumped unceremoniously back into Draco’s bed. The artifact dropped forgotten onto the floor with a quiet thud, vibrated for a moment, then disappeared. Neither boy noticed for quite some time.

 


	16. A Malfoy's Heir Is Never Dizzy

_**Because it's Monday, and I technically owe you guys a chapter. And because I left some of you hanging with the way the last chapter ended. And you expected more? Needy people. *grins* Just kidding - you know I love you guys, right? I'm happy you're enjoying this little story enough to want more. So... here ya go! A whole chapter of nothing but pointless Drarry fluff!  
** _

Draco POV

A violent crack sent Draco scrambling for his wand, eyes squinted against the bright orange glare. _Sunset?_ His brain felt fuzzy. His fingers closed around his wand just as a harsh voice grated "Dinner is being COLD." A haughty sniff and another almighty crack – _house-elf apparition_ , his brain supplied, belatedly – followed.

"Bloody _hell_."

Draco jumped, swinging around and pointing his wand at… Harry. _Oh._ Suddenly the afternoon came rushing back to him, in all its mortifying detail, and he flushed as his head spun dizzily. Harry was thoroughly rumpled, half-naked, and absolutely bloody _gorgeous_. Harry leaned over and fumbled around under the bed, and Draco scolded himself harshly for the disappointment he felt when he realized Harry was probably looking for his shirt. Draco watched the light shift on the planes of Harry's back as he moved, watched the muscles stretching and sliding under his skin, and felt his throat go suddenly dry. He swallowed, but couldn't make himself look away.

Then Harry grunted something that sounded suspiciously like "aha!" and emerged with – his glasses. _Oh._ He jammed them on his face, and Draco winced. _No wonder he's always having to tape them together._ Harry blinked at him for a moment in silence, and then his face split into a wide grin. "Hi," he said, rather inanely.

Draco attempted to remain aloof, but knew it was a lost cause when he felt his mouth stretch into an answering grin. "Hi, yourself." _Hi, yourself? Merlin, Draco. At least_ pretend _to be suave._ But he couldn't help it. There was something about Harry's infectious, boyish grin, his piercing green eyes, all that restless, coiled energy locked up in his lean seeker's frame… and the ridiculous and utterly beguiling mop of hair…. Draco sighed, giving up. _I'm a goner anyway… may as well enjoy the view while it lasts_.

Harry suddenly looked concerned. "Draco? Hello? Anyone home?"

Draco realized that Harry's hand was waving frantically in front of his face. "Hmm?" he asked absently, distracted by the sunset sparking off Harry's lenses and alternately concealing his eyes and magnifying them, swirling gold flecks through the green. _So many shades of green…_

"Right, that's it." Draco started when a hand descended suddenly – and forcefully – on his shoulder. Draco gasped. He met Harry's eyes – wide and staring, like he suspected his own were – when their bare skin met. Harry's eyes softened and he breathed out a startled "oh!" as he moved his hand, trailing sparks up and down Draco's arm.

Draco shivered. Not to be outdone, he stretched out a trembling finger, lightly brushing the tip along Harry's jaw. Harry moaned – or maybe Draco did, he wasn't sure, and then it didn't really matter. Harry reached out with both hands now, grasping Draco's shoulders, tugging him closer. Draco let the wand fall, cupping both hands wonderingly around his jaw and pulling him in for a bruising kiss. Harry moaned, deepening the kiss, curling one hand through Draco's hair and the other around the back of his neck.

Sometime later, Draco pulled back, gasping, "Kreacher – dinner – "

Harry growled, claiming his mouth again. After several white-hot kisses, he said, "Cold already. Dinner can wait."

Draco imagined the house-elf leering at them from the shadows. "But, Kreacher – "

Harry groaned. He grabbed the nearest wand – Draco's – and muttered a few privacy wards – strong ones. Draco was impressed despite himself. Then Harry tossed the wand into the corner. His eyes glowed with a burning intensity that should have been frightening, but Draco found that it only turned him on. Then Harry's mouth was on his, and Harry's hands were fisting in his hair, stroking over his skin, drawing breathless moans from his lips. And Draco forgot all about dinner, and house elves, and everything that wasn't _Harry._

* * *

 

Some time later, sated and glowing and altogether too hungry to ignore, Draco found himself sneaking out of the kitchen with Harry, carrying platefuls of illicit sandwiches and trying to avoid the wrath of a vengeful house-elf. When they were safely ensconced within their privacy wards once more, Draco let out the giddy laughter he'd spent the nerve-wracking kitchen raid desperately holding in. Harry joined in, and soon the room rang with peals of sheer joy at being alive and getting away with things, however silly. Their laughter seeped into the furniture and walls, chasing away a bit more of the darkness that shadowed the House.

Draco wrapped his arms around his aching sides, leaning contentedly against Harry as they sprawled amongst the remains of their midnight picnic. _Oh, I could get used to this_. His heart did a funny little flip, then, and he _ached_ with wanting. For the simple joys of midnight picnics and bare feet, of exploring and adventure and fun and _living_ as he hadn't lived in years. For green eyes and tanned skin and just-been-shagged hair. For the infuriating, maddening, wonderful, marvelous, devious, sly, funny, wicked, fucking-fabulous Harry. For his Harry. _His_.

Then he looked up into green eyes that met his own, unwavering. Green eyes he _loved_. Draco swallowed, not sure if he could say it – not yet. And Harry smiled. And his eyes said _I know. I see. I understand._ And maybe even _I love you, too._

And Draco lunged forward, closing the distance between them – _too much distance! –_ and covered Harry's face in enthusiastic kisses. Harry, laughing, shoved at him, trying to fend him off, then gave up and dramatically apparated them both back into bed.


	17. Thinking

_**Technically it's still Friday. I know, I'm flirting with missing my own deadlines. Oops. Here's a short chapter. Oh, and I'd like to lodge a formal complaint against migraines. I really could do without 'em.** _

Draco POV

Harry tossed his toothbrush at the holder, shrugging when it missed, and scrubbed his fingers through his hair. He wordlessly scooted over to make room for Draco at the mirror, nodding his thanks when Draco handed him his comb. "You know, I haven't had a dream about Voldemort since that first night we were here. And, now that I think about it, that one wasn't even a proper one. It was just running and fear and being chased – no Voldemort, or Death Eaters, or torturing muggles…" Harry shrugged, carelessly dropping the comb to clatter on the counter. "Huh. I haven't slept this well in _ages_." He stretched, yawning widely. Draco winced as Harry's joints popped. He'd grown used to Harry's morning rituals, and, disturbing popping noises aside, found them soothing. _And if_ that's _not proof I've switched sides…_ Harry's words caught up to him then, and he paused, toothbrush halfway to his mouth. The whisper of a memory teased him. _Something Voldemort said once about dreams…_

"Hey, Draco?"

He started. "Yeah?"

Harry poked his head back around the door. "I'm headed down, yeah?" His words were muffled by the t-shirt he was pulling over his head.

"Yeah, OK. I'll be down in a bit."

Harry flashed him a quick grin and bounded off.

Draco couldn't help the small smile that pulled at his lips, even as he shook his head. Harry was such a slob. _But then, I wouldn't have him any other way_. He turned back to the mirror, sighing. He couldn't shake the feeling that Harry had just told him something vital. He turned it over in his mind, worrying at it, as he performed his own familiar morning rituals. He thought about it as he rinsed his toothbrush and placed it precisely into the holder. He thought about it as he combed his hair, twenty times exactly on each side. He thought about it as he carefully centered the comb in front of the mirror. Then he thought about it as he performed his newest ritual – he turned to leave, took a few steps, then sighed and turned back. He thought about it as he retrieved Harry's toothbrush, rinsed it, and placed it precisely into the holder next to his own.

By the time he'd gotten dressed, and was making his way downstairs, he'd come to a decision. _It has to have something to do with the wards. They changed, after we'd been here a bit. I felt it – I just didn't know what it was that I felt. I guess I have some research to do…_

"Hey Harry?"

"Hmm?"

"I'd like to do a bit of digging in the library today – I want to know a bit more about the wards, and about why I can feel them and you can't." _And that's the truth. Just not all of it._

Harry nodded. "Fine by me. McGonagall's supposed to floo today anyway, and I wanted to poke about in the attic a bit more."

Draco shuddered. There were _far_ too many spiders in that attic. "Better you than me."

Harry grinned at him. "Yeah, well, I'll take spiders over books any day."

"Don't let Granger hear you say that."

Harry tossed a muffin at him, and Draco caught it easily. He took a large bite, exaggerating his moan of pleasure as the bits of chocolate melted on his tongue, and delighting in the spots of color that rose to Harry's cheeks, even as he rolled his eyes.

* * *

 

Draco closed the book with a snap. He regretted it, a second later, as the resulting puff of dust hit his face. He waved his hand, coughing, and banished the dust.

He'd found what he was looking for, and, as he'd suspected, it wasn't good. It hadn't registered at the time, but when Harry had told him he'd _seen_ Draco, seen how unhappy he was about what he was forced to do… well, he _had_ seen it. Through Voldemort's eyes. Which was all well and good, except that, now that Draco had thought about it, it seemed awfully likely that Voldemort could see out of _Harry's_ eyes as well. And he'd admitted to being hopeless at legilimency, which meant he couldn't even keep him out if he wanted. Likely, he hadn't thought he'd have to.

Draco frowned. Of course, Granger ought to have thought of this before. And then he realized. _Of course. Harry didn't_ tell _her. He probably hasn't told anyone, or they'd have insisted he learn legilimency._ He'd have chalked it up to Harry's arrogance, once. But now he knew better. _He probably didn't want to bother anyone with it._ Draco refrained from smacking himself in the forehead, but only just. _Well, at least I have some idea of why he's not been having those dreams. I'll just have to study the wards and hope I can cast similar ones once we leave here. Which means I'll almost certainly need Granger's help._

He smiled as Harry clattered down the stairs and skidded into the study. Seconds later, the floo flared to life. _How'd he hear that all the way up in the attic, when I didn't hear it in the next room? Maybe he has more of a link to the House and wards than either of us realized…_

Draco opted to let Harry handle McGonagall. She'd be less nervous, and more inclined to listen to Harry without Draco there to remind her of things she doubtless didn't want to think of. And he was comfortably settled in what he firmly believed to be the most comfortable chair in the house, and not inclined to move just for a floo call. Especially not one where he'd be expected to nod along and agree and never voice an objection. He yawned, sinking further into the plush velvet. His mind, pushed to its limits concentrating for several hours on the weighty, intricate, and sometimes tedious accounts of the House wards, written in a variety of hands (all of them crabbed and spiky and difficult to make out), and a variety of inks (all of them brown and faded), floated deliciously on the edge of sleep. _Let Harry handle the talking,_ he thought vaguely. _It's what he's good at. I'll handle the thinking_. He yawned. _Later. I'll handle the thinking later._


	18. The Greasy One

_**Happy Mother's Day! My gift to you all - a new chapter. It's short, but I think it's funny.** _

Kreacher POV

Kreacher banged around the kitchen, in what was becoming something of a habit. He would probably find it worrying, if he stopped to think about it. He flicked his fingers in irritation, sending ingredients and dishes zooming about the room. Cupboard doors banged open and shut, sensing his mood, and the air was soon filled with puffs of flour, splashes of milk, and bits of flying food. He whirled about, mixing, stirring, pouring, scooping – then he turned, startled. Everything stopped. Two glass bowls had collided midair, and shattered spectacularly. Glass shards littered the floor.

Kreacher regarded the glass pieces with a twinge of regret. Those had been his best mixing bowls. He snapped his fingers without much hope; the pieces only shivered slightly. They’d already been repaired one too many times. He sighed, vanishing the mess.

From the moment the Masters had blazed into the House, Kreacher’s life had been changed. His world had been turned on its head so many times in the past weeks, he didn’t think he’d ever recover. The Masters had breathed _life_ into the old House, filling it with laughter and arguments and noise, as only teenage boys could.

It had been so long since Kreacher had heard laughter. That had been the first time those bowls had been broken and repaired – the day Master Potter made Master Malfoy-Black laugh.

Kreacher sighed again. His life was so different now – a _life_ , not just an existence. Even the House had changed, shifted, re-imagined itself. It was shrugging off the heavy gloom it had been cloaked with for centuries. The wallpaper was gradually lightening, the ceilings were inching higher, the candles were burning brighter. The shadows were retreating.

Kreacher knew his past self – the cranky, miserable self he had been only a few weeks ago – would have despised the changes. Would have sabotaged the Masters, served them inedible food, made their lives miserable as only a disgruntled House-elf could. But the new Kreacher… The new Kreacher welcomed the light and laughter. His life had been dark and miserable and lonely for so long; now he was drawn to the boys like a moth to flame. And they both burned so very bright…

Kreacher banged the pans he was holding viciously together. Then he scowled and spelled away the dents. “The greasy one is being determined to ruin all of Kreacher’s work! Kreacher is not saying a word when Masters Potter and Malfoy-Black be missing dinner. Kreacher is not saying a word when they is making those _sandwich_ abominations after they is not eating the dinner Kreacher has left for them. And now the greasy one is being taking them away. Kreacher is not being able to do anything about his plans. All those plans… This is not being able to be borne!”

Another dish shattered, and Kreacher waved his arm behind him, vanishing it without turning to look. What did it matter, when tomorrow the Masters were leaving? When his life would return to the unending gloom?

He had overheard Master Potter talking to the greasy one over the floo. He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, exactly, but he’d been preparing to nudge Master Potter towards Master Malfoy-Black again. They needed all the help they could get. “And now it is being ruined. Ruined! Because the greasy one and the bossy one is being sure that Master Potter and Master Malfoy-Black is being safer with those idiot muggles!” Kreacher sniffed. He’d listened to Master Potter haltingly confessing some of what he’d lived through, with those muggles. He could fill in the blanks well enough – he was no stranger to cruelty, after a lifetime of serving the Blacks. Not that the current Masters were cruel...

“Not that they is _being_ Masters. They is being gone tomorrow, and then Kreacher is being alone again.” He banged his head on the table. It felt good, so he did it again. Then he remembered that Master Potter had forbidden him to punish himself. Not that he was, exactly. But Master Potter probably wouldn’t understand. He banged the pans together again instead. The sound was nearly as satisfying as that of his forehead hitting the table, so he did it again and again.

“Kreacher! Stop that infernal racket at once!” Master Malfoy-Black’s annoyed voice floated in from the study, and Kreacher sighed. He surveyed the hopelessly dented pans, and then vanished them, too. He would have to make a trip to Diagon Alley for more dishes. If the Masters ever came back. He gazed at his failed efforts at food preparation sadly, vanished the lot, and then disapparated with a sad little pop.

 


	19. Back in Black

**_This is probably the last time we'll hear from Grimmauld Place. Sad. But, the boys and the story must move on._ **   


Black House POV

The Most Ancient and Noble House of Black watched Kreacher’s antics with amusement. It was less amused with the loss of the mixing bowls. They had been a wedding gift for Mistress Lestrella when she joined the family. Yet another priceless piece of Black family history, gone. Then it remembered that Mistress Lestrella had hated those mixing bowls – that they had in fact been a pointed reminder of her utter failure in the domestic arts in general, and baking in particular, which was why she had given them to Kreacher – and the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black relaxed. Black Family history was well and good, but if the Master or Mistress the object in question belonged to had disliked or even hated it, the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black supposed there really was no point in keeping it around. Objects with no sentimental value were clutter and junk, destined for the “Ugly Furniture Graveyard.” And, really, there was already plenty in there.

The Most Ancient and Noble House of Black, unlike Kreacher, was unconcerned with the imminent departure of young Masters Potter and Malfoy-Black. The past weeks had shown both boys to be capable, mature, and quick. The Most Ancient and Noble House of Black welcomed the youthful spirit they brought. It felt itself lightening, expanding, stretching, shaking off the yoke of Dark Magic. It felt free.

Of course, the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black had not been idle while the Masters explored its walls. No, The Most Ancient and Noble House of Black had been busy indeed. The Most Ancient and Noble House of Black had studied the boys during their daylight waking hours. It had taken their measure, and plumbed the depths of their souls. But it was at night that the real work had been done. While the Masters slept, the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black had bound them, silently and surely, into its blood and bones and wards. Into its walls and rooms and secret spaces. Into every corner and every shadow. The Most Ancient and Noble House of Black had silently, stealthily, delicately bound them – to itself, and to each other. With every passing night, it drew them closer. And with every passing night, it twined their fates more surely with one another, and with its own.

The Most Ancient and Noble House of Black whispered a suggestion to Master Malfoy-Black, invisibly guiding him to the place where the Ugly Furniture Graveyard became something _other_. It slipped the Object of Affection into the path of Master Potter’s unwitting hand, and smiled to itself when, as the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black had suspected, it led him directly to Master Malfoy-Black. And the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black came closer to laughter than it had ever done when Master Potter let the Object of Affection fall at last, and when neither boy thought to look for it. The Most Ancient and Noble House of Black vanished the Object of Affection, whisking it back to its most secret storage room, where reality once again became something _other_.

The Most Ancient and Noble House of Black saw the moment when Master Malfoy-Black suspected the wards of protecting Master Potter from the one who styled himself the Dark Lord. The Most Ancient and Noble House of Black nudged Master Malfoy-Black toward the library with the breath of a suggestion. It made sure the books Master Malfoy-Black was searching for practically leapt into his hands. It made sure the books he needed, but didn’t know about did the same.

At the same time, the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black nudged Master Potter toward a certain dark attic corner. It lifted a floorboard, just a hair, just enough to trip an absent-minded foot. It nudged a small amulet out of its hiding place, to roll across the floor just where it would catch Master Potter’s curious eye. It didn’t look like much, the amulet – just a small, smooth, not-quite-perfectly-round stone. Just the right size to slip into the bottom of a pocket and worry absentmindedly. Quite nondescript, really. Of course, if one were to look closely enough, the faint glamour would fade, and runes would appear, etched near-invisibly across the amulet’s surface. But the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black had taken Master Potter’s measure, these past weeks. And the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black knew that Master Potter would never think to look so closely. But he would pick it up, and slip it into his pocket. And he would transfer it from pocket to pocket, without thinking about it, so that he always had it on him.

The Most Ancient and Noble House of Black impressed a suggestion into the amulet, to ensure that Master Potter did so. Of course, the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black knew that the precaution was unnecessary. That Master Potter would carry the amulet always without any nudging. That was just the sort of person he was. But The Most Ancient and Noble House of Black had learned never to trust completely in someone else’s behavior without adding just a bit of suggestion. It was only practical.

The Most Ancient and Noble House of black also impressed a suggestion to ensure that Master Potter did not show the amulet to Master Malfoy-Black. For, the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black had learned, Master Malfoy-Black _was_ the sort of person who would look closely. And the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black was _counting_ on Master Malfoy-Black to look closer. It was trusting that he would, as it had never trusted anything before. But not until the proper moment. The Most Ancient and Noble House of Black was trusting that Master Malfoy-Black would see the amulet – _really_ see it – and know at once how to use it. He had the information – the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black had seen to that. It put those books in Master Malfoy-Black’s way along with the ones he sought. And it saw him read them. So it impressed one final suggestion into the amulet: that when the time was right, it would reveal itself to Master Malfoy-Black.

The Most Ancient and Noble House of Black could not ward Master Potter’s mind against the Insufficiently-Dark Lord from afar. It did not know of any artifact that could do that. But it _could_ put the amulet into his hand. The rest must be left up to Master Potter and Master Malfoy-Black themselves.

The Most Ancient and Noble House of Black nodded, satisfied. It had done what it could. What remained now was to sit back and wait for its Masters to return. And, the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black thought smugly, it was _good_ at waiting.

 


	20. One More Night

Harry POV

_“Kreacher! Stop that infernal racket at once!”_

Harry started up from the couch in surprise. _Draco must be in the library._ He groaned and rubbed his eyes. His head was pounding more than it usually did after a floo call. Neither McGonagall nor Snape had been inclined to listen to Harry. They’d spoken over him, drowning out his protests. He and Draco were going to stay with the Dursleys, and that was that. _Draco is not going to take the news well._

Harry had told Draco bits about his life with the Dursleys, but he’d kept most of it hidden. Draco hadn’t pushed him, though Harry knew he was curious. It was just so raw. Far better to shove all of the hurt and torment into the back of his mind and focus on the present. And now he was going to have to deal with it all, and with Draco there, no less.

They had settled into a comfortable routine, in Grimmauld Place, shutting out the world and living in a peaceful bubble. He was surprised at how well they got along, without the pressure of outside expectations. They had learned to see past “Harry Potter, Chosen One” and “Draco Malfoy, Death Eater,” to just Harry and Draco, two wounded boys thrust into difficult roles neither of them wanted. Harry liked Draco – was beginning to suspect he might even love him. And he thought Draco was beginning to feel the same. But it was all so new, so fragile and unsure. It could still be crushed and ripped apart by the outside world. The outside world they would have to rejoin – tomorrow.

He’d tried everything he could think of, but McGonagall had been unrelenting. Harry and Draco would be safer with the Dursleys. Harry didn’t think that was true, and he knew Draco didn’t either, but they were “just kids.” Their opinions didn’t matter. Never mind that it was their lives in question.

Harry hit his head on the back of the sofa a few times. It didn’t really help. Then he worried that Kreacher would see and take it as permission to punish himself again. It had been hard enough to convince him to stop in the first place.

There was nothing for it. He would have to talk to Draco. Which would only bring up things Harry sincerely wished could stay buried. He groaned, wondering if he could fake an illness convincingly enough to buy them a few days. But, no. It was Snape fetching them, after all. He couldn’t count on sympathy there; Snape would only chastise him for allowing himself to get sick and endangering Draco. He might even take Draco somewhere else to protect him. And Harry wanted to face the Dursleys alone even less than he wanted to face them with Draco.

Harry walked slowly toward the library, dragging his bare feet through the thick carpet. But he still reached the door, sooner than he would have liked, and with rug burn on his toes to boot. He scowled down at them, drew a fortifying breath, and blew it out slowly. _Right, then_.

“Erm, Draco?”

Draco marked his place with an elegant finger, then raised an eyebrow as he looked up. “Is there a reason you are interrupting my reading, Potter?”

 _And I’m back to ‘Potter.’ He must be irritated._ “I just spoke with McGonagall and Snape.”

“I gathered.” Draco frowned. “Are you sure we can trust Severus?”

“Yes.” Harry nodded emphatically. “From what Dumbledore showed me… yes. I may not like him, but I trust him.”

Draco nodded thoughtfully. “I never would have guessed he was a double agent, you know.”

“I know, believe me.”

“So,” Draco’s finger tapped the book impatiently, “did you just want to chat, or was there something else? As fascinating as this is, I _do_ have important things to do.”

“What are you doing, anyway?”

“Never mind that. I don’t have time to explain, and I’m not sure yet, anyway. And, if you’ll excuse me, I really need to get back to this. I won’t have access to these books much longer, and – ”

Harry cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Well, that’s the thing. Snape is going to be here to get us tomorrow morning. So we’ll need to pack tonight. I just thought you’d want to know.”

Draco stared at him. “Tomorrow? But – but that’s too soon. You have to – ”

Harry sighed. “Yeah. I tried, believe me. They weren’t impressed. For whatever reason, they think we’ll be safer with the Dursleys.” Harry grimaced. “Anyway, I just wanted to give you some advance warning. So… is there anything I can help with?”

“What?”

“Whatever you’re looking for – maybe I can help?”

“I’m sure I don’t need _your_ help, Potter.”

Harry sighed. “OK. I’ll be in the attic then, if – I’ll be in the attic.”

Draco merely nodded, head already bowed over his book.

Harry opened his mouth to say more, to say that he wanted to spend their last hours in Grimmauld place _together_ – but the words stuck on his tongue, and in the end he just turned away. Draco clearly didn’t want him there; he’d gone spiky and distant, and Harry knew better than to press. He just wished Draco hadn’t chosen to spend their last evening that way. It seemed so final – _and_ , Harry thought sadly, _maybe it is_. They wouldn’t last – not out there. They were too fragile yet, too unsure of what they were. _I wanted one more night of this – of you._ But even if the silent plea had been visible in his eyes, as he suspected it was, it didn’t matter. Draco never looked up.

Harry closed the library door behind him silently, hoping Draco might yet stop him. He didn’t, of course. Harry leaned his forehead against the door for a moment, then turned and drooped off to the attic. It was as good a place to mope as any, and at least he could be sure that Draco wouldn’t seek him out there. If he went anywhere else, he’d just be sad when Draco didn’t join him. This way he could pretend it had been his choice to spend the evening alone.

* * *

When he’d grown tired of moping, Harry began to pace. His mind filled with images of just what it would be like, with the Dursleys. Of what they would say and do, how they would treat Draco, how they would treat him in front of Draco. It was the last that worried him the most. He’d kept his home life private for so long. And now his… well, his former rival – who the hell knew what he was now – would see it all. And Harry’s darkest secret wouldn’t be a secret any more.

As he grew more agitated, his pacing grew more erratic. He wove a complicated path through the treasures and junk that filled the attic – the castoffs of past generations. Not ugly enough for the Ugly Furniture Graveyard, but not nice enough to display, either. He muttered to himself as he paced, trusting in the silencing charms he’d hurriedly cast and the several floors between them to keep Draco from hearing. Then he tripped over a loose floorboard and pitched forward, windmilling his arms awkwardly as he tried (and failed) to stay upright.

He slumped awkwardly on the floor where he had fallen, deciding it was as good a place as any and that moving was far too much trouble. He watched a spider scuttle across the floor, inches from his nose. He wondered idly if it would venture _in_ his nose; he couldn’t bring himself to care. He felt detached, as if he floated above his body. He looked down to see if that were the case, and hit his nose on something hard.

He squinted at it, but it was too close; his eyes wouldn’t focus. For a moment he didn’t move, trying to convince himself that moving would be too much trouble, that the whatever-it-was wasn’t going to be interesting. But his curiosity got the better of him, as it always did. _If you were a cat, Harry, you’d have been dead ten times over at least._ _Huh. the voice in my head sounds an awful lot like Hermione._ But he wasn’t a cat, and he hadn’t died yet. _Of course, there’s a first time for everything._

Finally deciding that moving was better than arguing philosophy with himself, Harry sat up. He winced and rubbed at a bruise that bloomed suddenly on his elbow. _Must have knocked it on something when I fell_. Then he remembered the object, and he leaned forward to get a better look. It looked like a small stone, smooth and round, but not unnaturally so. It was a dark slate gray, as so many small stones are, and looked like it would fit comfortably into his palm. He caught himself reaching for it and jerked back. He had learned _some_ caution. He cast a bevy of detection spells, but they didn't reveal anything. If the thing _were_ magical, as it most likely was, in this house, there didn’t seem to be any Dark taint to it. Harry picked it up, deciding it was probably safe; he was too tired to run any more tests. The stone fit into his palm as neatly as he’d expected. He peered at it, but there didn’t seem to be any markings on it. It looked perfectly innocuous and was the ideal size for a worry stone. He ran his thumb across it experimentally: yes, the perfect worry stone. He slipped it into his pocket, suddenly wanting a memento from their stay at the House, something to remind him of _his_ Draco.

He snorted softly, dashing away the tears that threatened to fall. _Right._ My _Draco. For tonight, anyway, much good it’s doing me._ He propped himself up in the nook where two walls came together in the nearest corner of the attic, letting them bear most of his weight– a trick he’d learned during long sleepless nights in his cupboard – and wrapped his arms around his knees, curling into a ball. He dropped his head down onto his knees and allowed himself a moment of weakness. As the tears dripped down his face, he relived the past weeks with Draco, carefully committing each detail to memory.

He wanted to remember each shining moment and each brilliant smile, save them up for the dark days ahead. _Not that there will likely be many – I can feel the final battle approaching. Every step Voldemort takes sounds another death knell, throbbing through my soul. But, still. However many days I have left, I’d like to have something happy to spend them thinking of. If nothing else, Draco’s given me that._ He let the misery and loss wash over him then. It seemed as good a time to mourn as any. And he likely wouldn’t have the chance, later. _I’ve one more reason to fight, now. Kill Voldemort, make sure he dies… and make sure Draco lives._

He patted the wall beside him gently. "Don't worry," he whispered, "I'll send him back to you. Kreacher brought me the papers I need, when he wanted me to sign you over. I'll leave them with Kreacher before I leave. Draco doesn't need to know until after - well, until _after_." His voice turned fierce, determined. "But I _will_ send him back to you. I promise you that." He felt the promise hum through him, like a guitar string, stretched taught through his heart and gently plucked. He felt the echo of it thrumming through the wall beneath his hand and nodded. Then, drained, he leaned his head back against the wall and let sleep claim him.

 


	21. Tell Me Lies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: I removed the tiny little bit at the end to make it its own chapter. Sorry for the confusion.

Draco POV

For the first time since they’d arrived at Grimmauld Place, Harry didn’t show up for dinner. Draco sat alone at the table, staring forlornly at Harry’s untouched plate, long after he’d emptied his own.

Kreacher had fetched him from the library, just as he’d let the last book fall from his fingers. His head was swimming with knowledge, ideas, thoughts set down by Masters Black over the centuries. He was grateful for his ability to memorize passages of text – more grateful than he’d ever been. Somewhere in those blocks of text was the solution to creating protective wards for Harry – he just needed to reflect on it for a bit and he’d have it. He felt a bit of his fear and tension ease, draining off of his shoulders like melted butter, as he accepted the strange certainty that seemed to come both from somewhere deep within himself and from outside. _The House_ , he realized. _Of course._ That the House had provided the answer, when he hadn’t been entirely sure of his question, reassured him. His connection to the House was growing – he’d sensed as much, the past few days, but it was good to be certain – and he hoped that Harry’s connection to the House was growing too. _That must be how he knew there was a floo call._ Draco’s trust in the House was growing too, though he knew Harry was still reluctant. _But then, he’s never lived in a Pureblood House before. He doesn’t know what it’s like to be so intimately connected, so very much a part of your home._ Draco had felt it before, of course. At the Manor. Before Voldemort moved in.

Draco cut off that line of thought with a shudder. It didn’t matter. He’d never go back to the Manor. But he didn’t mind so much, now. He ran a teasing finger down the wall, a stroke of affection. Yes, he could live here. He could be _at home_ here. _Especially if Harry were here with me_ … But Draco wouldn’t let himself dwell on the future. It would distract him from the present. _And if I want a future with him, I have to protect him. He’s_ my _responsibility, now._ The wall hummed an agreement against his fingers, and Draco smiled. “You like that, do you?” he asked quietly. “Well, since you agree, may as well make it binding.” He cleared his throat, stroked the wall again. “I vow to protect Harry, on my life and honor, on my magic and blood, the Black blood that binds me to you. I will make sure he survives what is coming, and return him to you, no matter the cost to myself. I swear it.” The wall thrummed again, a sound rich and sweet as honey. _And since protecting Harry is more important than anything else… I need to find out how to contact Hermione. I’ll need her help to recreate the wards for Harry._

The curling warmth that had been growing in Draco’s stomach since he’d made his impulsive vow to the House curdled and grew cold. Harry had disappeared all afternoon. At the time, Draco had been grateful – he couldn’t learn what he needed with Harry there. His very presence was distracting. _I suppose I might have been a little warmer. He’s not used to Slytherin manners. Nor to Malfoy ones, I suppose. I didn’t mean to drive him off forever!_ Draco searched his memory, wincing at the coldness he’d used to brush off Harry’s offer of help. _Merlin. I called him ‘Potter.’ What was I thinking?_ He’d not been thinking – nearly all of his attention had been occupied by the books he was wading through. _And I’m not used to his Gryffindor manners_ , _either,_ he admitted to himself.

Groaning at his stupidity, Draco surveyed the cold, congealing food with distaste. He vanished it with a careless wave of his wand, and then stalked past Kreacher, ignoring his squawked protests. He marched up the stairs, expecting to find Harry sulking in their room. But, no, it was empty, and showed no signs of Harry’s having been there. With a sudden burst of fear, he checked the room Harry had stayed in, that first night, but it was empty too. Harry’s trunk was still there; nothing seemed to be missing. Draco relaxed slightly. He sat on their bed for a while, waiting. When Harry failed to show, Draco mechanically brushed his teeth and readied himself for bed. He stalled as long as he could, drawing out the rituals that usually soothed him. But he drew no comfort from them, and eventually he could think of nothing else to do. He crawled into a bed that suddenly seemed much too large, and pulled chilly sheets up to his chin.

Huddled alone in bed, he missed Harry acutely. The room seemed empty without him, cold. Harry was his sun. He always had been, but it was different, when Draco was admiring him from afar. Now that he’d felt his warmth up close, Draco knew he’d always be cold, without him. _Merlin. Do I – does that mean I_ love _him?_ He frantically searched through his memories of the past weeks, analyzing their actions, his responses to Harry. _I do. I fucking love Harry Potter. When did that happen?_ But that was easy – he’d _always_ loved Harry. Even when he’d been ‘Potter,’ a name spat in supposed hatred, Draco had loved him. The realization chilled Draco even further. He was a liability for Harry, now. He’d make Harry’s life harder. _I can’t tell him. I can’t tell anyone. If I want to protect him, he can never know._ Draco closed his eyes, trying to shut out the realization. In order to save Harry, Draco would have to break both their hearts

 

 


	22. Of Slytherins and Gryffindors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I removed the tiny little bit that was (very briefly) at the end of the previous chapter to lengthen it and make it its own chapter. Sorry for the confusion.

Draco POV

Draco didn’t know what ungodly hour of the morning it was when icy feet tangled with his beneath the covers, and he didn’t care. He turned and pulled Harry into a fevered embrace, twining around him until he hardly knew where one of them started and the other began. As Harry’s shivering subsided, and his frozen limbs finally began to warm, Draco felt himself slipping inexorably toward sleep. He tried to keep his eyes open, but they slid closed despite his best efforts.

When he woke again, to find himself alone in the bed once more, he couldn’t be certain whether the soft words whispered against his neck in a huff of warm breath had been real or merely a dream.

Then Harry smiled shyly at him as he stepped out of the bathroom, and Draco found himself returning the smile. His good intentions of the night before slipped away like so much smoke, and he knew he would never be able to lie to Harry. Not about that. He would just have to find some other way to save him.

“So,” Harry said, as he slid back under the covers to join Draco, “miss me?”

Draco luxuriated in the warmth radiating from Harry’s body, the warmth that was so very _Harry_ , unlike that frozen stiffness of the night before. “Yes, I – Mmmmmm.” His carefully planned words dissolved as Harry’s fingers trailed a line of sparks up his side, mapping the lines of his ribs.

Harry chuckled as he snuggled against Draco’s back, the sound buzzing deliciously against Draco’s skin, and Draco felt the curling warmth of yesterday flare to life once more. “You did miss me then,” Harry whispered. He paused to pepper the back of Draco’s neck with fiery kisses. “I’m glad. I…wasn’t sure.”

Draco felt the raw vulnerability and hurt in Harry’s words, and shame washed through him. _I caused that. I hurt him._ He swallowed. “I’m sorry, Harry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I was just – ”

“Shh.” Harry’s finger pressed gently against Draco’s lips, then traced them with a delicate caress. Draco felt his eyes drifting shut, and forced them open. He flipped in Harry’s arms so they were pressed chest to chest, faces mere inches apart. Harry’s eyes were blazing emerald, and Draco felt like they were burning him up from the inside out. He struggled against the hypnotic power of those eyes. Basilisk’s eyes.

“No; I need to say this. I didn’t even realize what I said until later, Harry. I can’t believe I called you ‘Potter.’ Merlin, Harry, I’ve not thought of you as Potter in ages. You must know that!”

Harry smiled, and the lines around his eyes relaxed. “I do know it. Just like I haven’t thought of you as ‘Malfoy’ in ages either. I’m just not used to your Slytherin aloofness.” He leaned in to brush his lips agonizingly gently against Draco’s. “I don’t know what the Sorting Hat was thinking,” he mumbled against Draco’s lips, “I’d have made a rubbish Slytherin.”

Draco reluctantly pushed Harry away. “Wait,” he chastised gently, when Harry pouted. “I’m not done yet. It’s partly Slytherin manners, yes, but it it’s also Malfoy manners. I was raised by the ice queen herself, don’t forget, and it’s going to take a while for me to thaw completely.” _Though not nearly as long as it could, now I’m sleeping with the sun._ He kissed Harry lightly, and was just leaning in to deepen the kiss, when Harry’s words snagged his attention. He pulled away sharply. “Hang on, what was that about you and the Sorting Hat and Slytherin?”

Harry groaned. “Draco! Are we really going to do this now? Snape will be here soon, and I don’t intend to be interrupted.” Draco stuck out his lower lip, pouting worse than Harry had, and Harry sighed, scrubbing his hand across his face. “Fine. Short version now, longer version later, OK?” Draco nodded eagerly. “Right. So, I dunno if you remember, but when we first got to Hogwarts, first year, and I went up to be sorted, the Hat sat a bit longer on my head than on other people’s.”

Draco nodded. Now that Harry mentioned it, yeah, he did remember that, though he’d been too busy cementing his place as leader of the Slytherin first years to pay much attention. “I suppose,” he said, when Harry seemed to be waiting for a verbal confirmation. “I don’t think it was unusually long, though. It just takes longer to decide for some people.”

Harry scratched his chin, which Draco now recognized as a nervous gesture. “Er, yeah. Hmm. Wonder if anyone else argues.”

Draco glared at him. “Harry…” _Now is_ not _the time to get lost in thought!_

Harry blinked at him. “Sorry. Er, anyway. I put on the Sorting Hat, and it hemmed and hawed to itself, said something about bravery and cunning and not a complete lack of brains – ”

Draco snorted and Harry glared at him. “Sorry, sorry, go on.”

“Anyway, then it started talking about how I could do great things in Slytherin. And it was about to yell that out, and – ”

Draco interrupted again. He hadn’t meant to, but, Merlin, he couldn’t help it. “No. No way. The Sorting Hat was _not_ going to put you in Slytherin. Was it?”

“Yeah. Maybe because of this.” Harry jabbed at his scar. “I dunno. Anyway, I argued with it. I started chanting “Not Slytherin. Not Slytherin.”

Draco swallowed. “That wouldn’t by any chance be because of me, would it?”

Harry scratched at his neck this time. “Er…”

Draco closed his eyes. _Merlin._ “I’m sorry about – ”

Harry waved it away. “Eh. It was a long time ago Draco. Anyway, the point is, the Hat tried to convince me, I wouldn’t budge, and finally it got a bit huffy and said ‘Oh, all right. Better be… Gryffindor!’ Or something like that, anyway.” Harry shrugged. “So, it’s possible I would have made a good Slytherin. I dunno.”

Draco laughed. “Merlin, Harry. You _argued with the Sorting Hat._ Not only that, you bloody well _won_. You’d have made a smashing Slytherin.”

Harry looked startled. “Huh. Never thought of it like that.”

Draco smiled fondly at him. “Of course you didn’t. You’re a Gryffindor.” Then he pulled Harry roughly against him, and silenced whatever he was about to say with a kiss.

Which quickly turned into five kisses, and then ten, and then Draco stopped counting and his world narrowed to a scorching hot mouth, a sly tongue that tangled with his own, devious fingers that trailed fire up and down his body until he was burning, burning, burning. Until he felt his fears and insecurities falling away in soft flutters of ash. Until he felt himself consumed in Harry’s inferno, and thought he knew what the phoenix felt like, as it was reborn from flame.


	23. Severus

Draco POV

Harry stepped into the room just as Draco was carefully folding the last of his shirts.

"Ready then?" Harry asked, practically vibrating with nervous energy. He was giving Draco a headache.

Draco bent to place the shirt precisely into the center of the trunk, pausing to brush out some imaginary wrinkles. When he had stalled as long as he thought he could get away with, he closed the lid, wincing at the finality of the latch snicking into place. He straightened slowly and turned to Harry. "Yeah. I think that's everything. You?"

Harry hummed noncommittally, bouncing onto the balls of his feet.

"Harry – were you staring at my ass?"

"Hmm?"

"You were!" Draco glided forward, invading Harry's personal space.

Harry just grinned. "And if I was? It's a nice ass."

"Cheeky."

"Indeed."

There was barely any space between them at all now. Harry's hands ghosted over Draco's ribs, settling on his hips as he pulled him closer, molding their bodies together. Draco settled one arm around Harry's neck, one on his hip, and claimed his mouth in a hungry kiss. All thoughts of holding Harry at a distance deserted Draco. He needed Harry's kisses like he needed air to breathe, maybe more.

Just as things were heating up, the floo flared to life downstairs – Draco _felt_ it, a glance at Harry told him he felt it too – and Snape's languid drawl oozed up the stairs.

"Well, isn't this a fine welcome?"

Draco rolled his eyes at Harry, who smirked back. "Perfect timing, as always."

Draco sighed. "We'd better go down."

Harry just nodded. He shrunk and lightened Draco's trunk with a careless wave of his wand, slipping it into his pocket. Draco stopped in the doorway for a moment, one hand resting possessively on the frame. A wave of homesickness washed over him, startling him. _I will come back here._ He knew he was promising himself as much as the House.

Harry brushed past him, pressing the hard length of his body against Draco for a fleeting moment. His breath tickled Draco's ear as he whispered, "we'll finish this later." He squeezed Draco against him, then breezed past him and down the stairs. Draco stood for a moment, absorbing his promise, as he admired the way Harry's robes swirled around his ankles and clung in all the right places. Then he glided after Harry.

"Mister Potter, Mister Malfoy. Thank you for _finally_ gracing me with your presence," Snape said dryly.

"Severus."

"You will address me as _Professor_ Snape, Mister Potter. You as well, Mister Malfoy. I am not your head of house here – merely the one unfortunate enough to be babysitting the two of you. If you had any sense – "

"But, _Professor,_ " Harry said earnestly, "you already know I at least don't have that. After all, you've told me enough times over the years."

Professor Snape looked as if he had smelled something particularly unpleasant. He sniffed. "Very well, Mister Potter. Now, if you _don't_ mind, I would like to have a word with Mister Malfoy. Surely you have something you can occupy yourself with?"

Draco was about to protest, but Harry cut him off. "As a matter of fact, Professor, I do have a few things to discuss with my house-elf."

"...wonderful. Don't let us stop you. Now, Mister Malfoy, if you would be so kind as to step into the study?" Snape indicated the doorway with a dramatic flourish of his hand.

Harry rolled his eyes at Draco, and he fought to contain the giggle that threatened to slip out.

"If you would kindly refrain from mocking me, Mister Potter, I might be more likely to intervene should your life become unavoidably threatened."

Draco couldn't hold back the snort that time, and Snape rolled his eyes heavenward. "Why I was saddled with you _children_ I'll never know. Mister Potter if you would _please_ go attend to your house-elf, Mister Malfoy and I might conclude our discussion before the next century."

Harry mock saluted. "Yessir, Professor Snape, Sir."

He turned and marched out, aping a muggle sergeant, and Draco found himself alone with Snape, struggling to keep a straight face while the other glared at him.

"When you've _quite_ finished, Mister Malfoy, I'm afraid we have matters of some import to discuss. I'd prefer to keep this discussion private," he flicked up a few privacy wards, "so _if_ you would be so kind?" He perched on the edge of Draco's desk - _since when is it_ my _desk?_ \- and waved his arm at the chairs.

Draco settled himself into his favorite chair. He might as well be comfortable for this, which was shaping up to be a very unpleasant 'chat.'

Snape steepled his fingers in front of his face, regarding Draco over them thoughtfully. "Mister Malfoy. You are aware, I presume, that the... muggles that Mister Potter grew up with are uncomfortable with our kind?" He raised one eyebrow questioningly. Draco nodded. "Ah. Good. He's told you of them, then?"

Draco caught himself nodding again and stopped himself. "Some. He seems to have had a more difficult time of it than we were led to believe." His tone was faintly accusing.

Snape waved that away. "He exaggerates, I'm sure. In any case, the only thing that really matters is the blood protection. You are aware of it?"

Draco nodded again.

"Therefore," Snape continued, "Harry must go back there for the remainder of the summer. No matter how ill his relatives treat him, he still has some protection from the Dark Lord there."

"But, Sir – "

Snape glared at him. "I assure you, Mister Malfoy, whatever your puny little brain has contrived as a sufficient reason for Mister Potter to escape his relatives, it is insignificant when weighed against the larger issues. Mister Potter _must_ remain with them."

He fixed Draco with a calculated stare. " _You_ , however, Mister Malfoy, do _not_ have to subject yourself to such indignity. You are not so endangered as Mister Potter, despite your rash decision to flee from the Manor, nor are you so vital to the war effort. You, therefore, have a choice. You can go with Mister Potter to his hellhole of a muggle home, or you can choose to stay in one of the Order's safehouses. I am willing to take you to whichever you choose, though it would be remiss of me to do anything other than recommend the safehouse."

Draco stared at him. "How can – why would I leave Harry?"

"Why, indeed, Mister Malfoy? Why, indeed? Tell me, have you considered the danger you put yourself in, by associating with Mister Potter? The danger you put Mister Potter, himself, in? Ah. I see by your expression that you have not. Well, consider it now. Is it worth it to you, the risk you expose yourself and Mister Potter to by continuing your association? Is it worth it to _him_?"

"I – "

Snape held up a quelling hand. "Do not answer me now, Mister Malfoy. But think on it. Ask yourself if you could live with yourself, if you handed the Dark Lord victory. For that is what you risk. And for what? A boyish infatuation? Is it worth your death? Mister Potter's?"

A sharp knock on the door interrupted him. Snape grimaced. "Ah, it looks like your Mister Potter is impatient," he sneered, "just like his father." He flicked his wand, cancelling the privacy spells, and swept out of the room. He barely glanced at Harry, fist raised to knock again, as he passed him. "It's about time, Mister Potter. _Now_ , if you please, Mister Malfoy."

Shaking his head, Draco stepped forward to grasp Snape's left hand as Harry reached for his right. The sleeve of Snape's robe fell open for a moment, exposing the ugly Dark Mark that marred his pasty skin. The Mark that was twin to Draco's own. He felt his face blanch as he stared at the Mark, felt it mocking him and his foolish dreams of love. Then the sickening lurch of side-along apparition grabbed him, and he could think of nothing but the whirling void that pressed in on him, and the waves of nausea that rocked him.


	24. The Dursleys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT NOTE: So... a reviewer wondered when Draco's birthday is. Erm. I looked it up, and it looks like Draco would have been 17 before 6th year let out. BUT. I need him to not be 17 (Harry too, though his birthday is a bit later), because I need his wand to still have restrictions on it. So.... I'm gonna pretend, for the purposes of this fic, that Draco's birthday is several weeks later than it is, and that he is *not yet 17.* Got that people? Lovely. Carry on.

Draco POV

They landed with another sickening lurch, and Draco wobbled for a moment. He hunched forward, dry-heaving. Harry appeared at his elbow, steadying him, grounding him. Slowly, the dizziness receded, and Draco straightened. Harry kept a light pressure on his elbow, and Draco drew strength from his solid presence.

Snape cleared his throat, shattering the moment. "Well," he drawled, "if you two are _quite_ finished being all _gooey_ , I'll take my leave of you."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Surely you're not just supposed to dump us on the drive?"

Snape sniffed. "I should hope, Mister Potter, that you are capable of getting yourself and Mister Malfoy safely up a muggle drive. Even _I_ would not care to wager on your mucking up a walk of less than thirty feet." He snapped his cape around him. "Good _bye_ Mister Potter. Mister Malfoy – I take it you don't intend to reconsider?"

Draco put a possessive hand on Harry's arm. " _No_ , Professor. I'm _exactly_ where I belong."

Snape sighed. "So be it. It's on _your_ head, Mister Malfoy – remember that. If you change your mind, you know how to contact me." With another dramatic sweep of his cloak, he was gone.

"That went well, don't you think?"

Draco smiled. But it faltered when Harry turned suddenly serious.

"Draco." He grabbed Draco's arm, halting him. "Draco, listen to me. I don't know what that was about, with Snape, and I suppose it doesn't really matter. Just – there are some things you should probably know, before we go in there." He waved toward the front door, which loomed menacingly at them. _That's an atrocious color. What is it? Avocado? Puce? Ugh._

Draco pointed at the door. "I take it they have no taste?"

"What?"

"Never mind. What do I need to know?"

Harry chewed anxiously on his lip. "Well… I'm pretty sure I've mentioned that they hate wizards."

"You may have mentioned it," Draco said dryly.

"Yes, well. They hate anything that's, well, different, I suppose."

"You mean homosexuals."

"Yes. Among other things. But… it's probably best to pretend we're not… to pretend we're just friends. Or even uneasy allies."

"…Right." _Of course. The moment we're in public, it's back to business as usual. I guess it's ok to be enemies or 'friends' with a Death Eater, but not to date one."_

Harry blew out a nervous breath. "OK. Well… good. OK."

Draco sighed. "Come on Harry, it's just a door. We can do this. Anyway, there's somebody inside who's been staring at us since we appeared. I don't think we can run away now."

Harry snorted. "That would be Aunt Petunia. She spends most of the day standing at that window, watching to see if anything untoward happens in the neighborhood."

Draco's lip curled, but he prodded Harry toward the door. Harry went, albeit reluctantly, and soon he was reaching for the ornate brass knocker.

The door opened practically before he'd knocked the first time, and Draco got his first look at the muggles who'd raised Harry Potter.

They crowded into the doorway, blocking his view of the inside. The nose Draco had spotted earlier, poking out between the nervously twitching curtains, slashed through the pinched, colorless face of Harry's aunt. _What was her name? Some kind of flower? Ah – Petunia._ Her husband loomed behind her: beefy, corpulent, and a decidedly unbecoming shade of maroon. Harry's cousin – _Dudley, was it? Fits him_ – was more doughy than beefy, but promised to be just as large.

Draco suddenly remembered the way Harry looked at the start of each school year: thin – too thin. Gangly and awkward, all bones and skin. Swimming in clothes far too big for him. _Dudley's cast-offs_ , Draco realized, and wanted to smack his younger self. _How many times did I mock him for that?_ It was clear that the few stories Harry had told him of life here had been far from exaggerations. He felt the familiar sneer forming on his face. Strange, that he'd not noticed 'til now that he hadn't worn it for weeks. Since he'd pulled Harry from his father's – and by extension Voldemort's – clutches.

Draco realized that he'd been staring for rather longer than was polite, but their attention was rivited on Harry, anyway.

"…he's from a very old, _very wealthy, very important_ Pureblood family. He's practically wizarding royalty," Harry was saying.

Draco opened his mouth to protest. _Merlin. Never thought I'd be trying to convince someone I'm_ less _important…_

Harry elbowed him in the ribs, and he subsided. Harry must have a plan, and this was his home turf.

"Wealthy, you say?" Vernon's voice was as oily and irritating as Draco had imagined.

"But, dearest, we don't have another room for – " _Squeaky. I didn't know voices could_ be _that squeaky_.

"Nonsense! He'll have Dudley's second bedroom, and Harry can have his old room. Problem solved." Vernon rubbed his hands together greedily. "Now, let's get these two settled. I'm starving."

It was tough, but Draco managed to keep his snort inside.

"This way, Mr…"

"Draco, please." He schooled his tone to unfailing politeness. _I'll have to remember to thank mother for all those lessons in proper deportment. I'll need every one of them to feign politeness during our stay._

Petunia led him upstairs, to a very pleasant, and very large room. _This is Dudley's second bedroom? Wonder how big the first is… Hang on – are those_ bars _on the window? They are. Funny, I didn't notice bars on any of the other windows. Anyway, I thought muggles only used bars to deter thieves on downstairs windows..._

He shrugged. Perhaps he could ask the Dursleys to remove them, later. It would make the view much more pleasant. Right now he wanted to find Harry. Draco clattered down the stairs, as he'd never have been allowed to do in the manor. He stopped abruptly when he nearly ran into Harry at the bottom. He seemed to be stowing his trunk in the closet under the stairs.

Draco frowned. "Why are you putting your trunk in the broom closet?"

Harry wouldn't meet his eyes. "Well, I, uh – no, Draco – don't!"

But it was too late. Draco had already shoved past him. For long seconds he just stared, then he slowly asked, "Harry? Why is there a pallet in the broom closet?" His voice sounded funny: hollow, and a bit tinny.

Harry sighed. "You heard Vernon. I'm to stay in my old room."

He looked at Draco expectantly, but Draco couldn't make the words make sense. "But – "

"Are you really going to make me spell it out for you? Fine. This _is_ my old room." He gestured angrily at the pallet. "That's my bed. This is where I spent my first 11 years, and where my magical things were locked up every summer after that."

He looked close to tears, and Draco had never seen him so _vulnerable_. Harry bit his lip, looking as if he expected the taunts to start any second. _Oh, Harry._ Draco regretted again every taunt he'd ever lobbed at harry, felt each come back to lash his heart. He didn't know what he could say, so he did the only thing he could. He opened his arms, and Harry, after an incredulous few seconds, fell into them. He sobbed into Draco's shoulder, and Draco, not wanting Harry's horrible muggles to see him without his shields up, maneuvered them into the cupboard and shut the door.

Harry sniffled. "You don't have to come in here. I know it's not pleasant. And there's spiders." Draco just squeezed him tighter. "You're more important than spiders, Harry." His voice was raspy, and he coughed a few times to clear it. "Don't let them get to you. You can stay with me."

"But – "

"What, friends don't room together? Where do they think you sleep at Hogwarts?"

Harry laughed weakly. "I imagine they try not to think of me there at all."

"Hmm. Well, how about I insist that you stay with me to act as my servant, since I can't _possibly_ live without a house-elf."

Harry snorted. "That… actually isn't a bad idea. Just put on your snooty Malfoy expression and they might even buy it."

"I do _not_ have a 'snooty Malfoy expression.'"

"You so do."

Then Harry smiled, which was what Draco had been after. He lived for that smile. He just hadn't realized it until now.

"Here – you'd best head back up now. If they find you in here, they're not gonna buy your story about needing a servant, and I really don't fancy sleeping in here again."

"I suppose I have some reading to catch up on. What will you do?"

Harry turned toward the door. "Petunia usually leaves it… yep." He brandished a piece of crisp muggle paper at Draco. "Here it is."

"Here what is?" Draco asked.

Harry handed it to him. "My chores list."

Draco stared at it. "Harry…"

"Hey, I'm a servant, remember? This is a good thing – it makes your story plausible."

"But, Harry… there are far too many things on here! Have they made you do all this before, during the summer?"

Harry shrugged. "Every year. At least it's only summers, now. When I was a kid, it was all year. They only sent me to school when the officials made them. It's not so bad, really. I can do these things in my sleep."

Draco looked down at the list again. "Clean bathrooms, mop kitchen, clean gutters, mow lawn, wash dishes, cook meals! This is – Harry, this is not normal," he spluttered. "How old were you when you started having to do these things?"

Harry shrugged. "I dunno. I was 4, when Petunia started teaching me to cook. I remember cleaning bathrooms at 3. It's not important, Draco," he added, turning his face gently away from the list. "It's in the past. Well, not this list, but these things are easy now. I don't mind the work."

"It's drudgery, Harry!" Draco stared at him, aghast. "We don't work the _house-elves_ this much!"

"Hey, Draco." Harry gently took the list from him. "Calm down, OK? It's not a big deal, truly. And if I start now, they might be more willing to let me stay with you."

"But – "

"Draco, please. Just… drop it, OK?"

"Fine. For now." _But later we_ are _going to talk about this_.

"Thank you."

Draco nodded curtly, still struggling to wrap his head around these new revelations about Harry's past. He allowed Harry to steer him gently out of the cupboard, and wandered back to his room in a daze. The bars on the window made sense now – _They were probably to keep Harry_ in _, or maybe to keep his owl out_ – but… still. It was all too much to handle at once. He dropped onto the bed, scowling at the ceiling when he realized that Harry was probably already hard at work. Somehow, that thought made it impossible for Draco to rest – he jumped up and began pacing.

He was still pacing when he heard Petunia calling Dudley for dinner.


	25. What Does it Look Like I'm Doing?

Draco POV

Dinner was an uncomfortable affair. Draco joined the Dursleys at the dining-room table to find it already laden with far too much food. He nodded to Petunia and began to eat, curling his lip at the mountains of food Vernon and Dudley were shoveling into their piggish faces. He felt faintly ill, and wondered if perhaps he should have asked for a plate to take to his room. He'd thought Harry would approve of his effort to be polite, but the coward hadn't bothered to show up for dinner. _Come to think of it, I've not seen him since he showed me that list._ Draco frowned. The house wasn't _that_ large. He shoved down a twinge of unease. Likely Harry just hadn't wanted to deal with his relatives. Draco couldn't blame him. Still. It wasn't like Harry. _Oh, fine._ _I'll ask._

He cleared his throat, shrugging on his best Malfoy manners like a familiar, if slightly stiff, cloak. "Petunia – I may call you Petunia, mayn't I?"

She practically simpered at him. "Why, of course you may, Master Malfoy."

 _Perhaps that's laying it on a bit thick._ "Er, yes. I was wondering: why isn't Harry eating with us?"

She darted an anxious look at her husband, and Draco was startled to see something like fear flash through their eyes. Dudley didn't seem to notice anything other than the food that was rapidly disappearing into his gullet. It was Vernon who spoke, after laying his knife and fork deliberately aside. "Th-er, _Harry_ was feeling a bit peaky this evening; thought he'd turn in early. Didn't want to make us ill, you know." Vernon forced a chuckle. Draco, who had seen much more believable forced laughter, merely nodded and pretended not to see the relieved look Petunia and Vernon shared.

Draco continued eating, outwardly calm, but his mind was racing. He knew Harry wasn't sick – wizards hardly ever sickened, and Harry had been perfectly fine just a few hours ago. Draco also hadn't missed the way Vernon had stumbled over Harry's name, pronouncing it as if he'd never encountered it before. Nor the way he'd started out saying something else entirely. Nor yet the barely audible cough of Petunia's that had preceded the stumble. Wherever Harry was, Draco was certain that the elder Dursleys at least knew more than they were saying, and that it wasn't entirely Harry's choice that kept him there.

When the male Dursleys had _finally_ shoved away their plates, Draco expected them to clear the table. He knew they didn't have a house-elf to do it, like his parents did. But they simply wandered off, plunking themselves down on the overstuffed chairs in what Harry had explained was the 'living room.' _I still don't see why it's better for living than any of the other rooms._ Harry had merely laughed when he'd asked, saying he'd just have to see for himself.

Draco glanced uneasily back toward the forgotten dishes as he followed the others. He perched on the edge of a chair, wary of sinking so far into the thing that he wouldn't be able to extract himself, and jumped when a large box in the corner blared to life. A man appeared, pointing at a map. An advertisement for some sort of soap. Another for something Draco couldn't guess. Vernon was pointing a small device at the box – a television, Harry had called it – and jabbing the buttons with one meaty finger. He finally stopped when a football match came on, and sank back into his chair.

Draco watched the tiny men kicking the ball around for a bit, but quickly grew bored. He turned to Petunia, thinking now was as good a time as any to ask about Harry staying with him, but her attention was riveted on the screen. Vernon and Dudley, too, were watching with intense focus.

Draco sighed. _Merlin, but these muggles are boring._ He checked again to make sure no one was watching him, and then slipped out of the room. He wandered back to the dining room, intending to put his dish in the sink, at least, to make less work for whoever washed them later, only to find them gone. The table had been cleared and wiped. Draco stared. _But, if they don't have house-elves, then… Oh. Draco, you're an idiot._

He stomped into the kitchen and, yes; there was Harry, elbow deep in suds as he washed the dishes. _He probably cooked the meal, too_ , Draco realized, eyes drawn to the streak of flour on Harry's cheek.

He tapped his foot until Harry looked at him. "Hi, Draco." Harry seemed resigned. Draco would have been pitching a fit, in his place. His opinion of Harry went up another notch.

"Why aren't you using magic for that?" That wasn't the question Draco had meant to ask; he'd meant to ask why Harry was doing it at all. But, now that he'd asked it, he found that he truly did want to know.

Harry looked at him like he was crazy. "Magic isn't permitted in a muggle dwelling, Draco, you know that."

Draco stared, flabbergasted. This was so much worse than he'd imagined. "Yeah, but… Harry. You _live_ here. Surely the Ministry could make an exception for you?"

He snorted. "Yeah, because I'm _so_ popular at the Ministry." He sighed. "Even if they did – I did tell you that the Dursleys lock my things up every summer, didn't I? They wouldn't have allowed me to use magic, even if the Ministry had. Just – don't worry about it, Draco. It's not a big deal. Really."

Draco stared. All he could see was that list – the one Petunia had left for Harry, the one Harry didn't bat an eye at. All those chores that Draco had thought too much work for anyone, much less for Harry – and that had been when he'd thought Harry would do them with magic. To do them the muggle way – that was more than anyone could be expected to do. It was beyond cruel. And Harry said it was no big deal. _Forget exaggerating to make things seem worse than they were. Harry exaggerated in the other direction. He underplayed everything. Why would Snape… for that matter, why would Dumbledore?_

Draco found himself suddenly and irrationally angry at his former headmaster. The most worrying thing was, if he had been asked to kill Dumbledore _now_ , knowing what he did about Harry's past, and how much Dumbledore must have ignored or overlooked… Draco didn't think he'd hesitate.

Harry looked worried. "Hey, Draco. It's OK. I didn't even know magic existed until I was 11 and got my letter. Well, letters. Vernon kept destroying them, so they kept coming. More and more, until one finally got through. Anyway, it's not so bad, the work. Really. I'm used to it, and it's only for the summer, now. There's always Hogwarts to look forward to."

Draco nodded stiffly, head reeling. Harry offered him a watery smile and turned back to the dishes. Draco bit his lip, debating. It was clearly a dismissal, and he could take it. Offer both of them time to shove all this behind walls. Which is how both of them dealt with these sorts of things, it seemed. Of course, it never seemed to work all that well. He nodded, decided, and moved to Harry's side. He picked up the towel, plucked the dish Harry had just washed from his unresisting fingers, and set about drying it.

Harry stared at him, but Draco concentrated very hard on drying his dish. Then he set it aside and picked up the next one. "Draco," Harry said, finally, "What are you doing?"

Draco raised one eybrow. "What does it look like I'm doing… _Potter_?" he drawled. "I'm helping you."

"Yeah, but – "

"But, nothing. Now, hurry up – I've finished drying these and you've not washed any more. Surely you're not going to let me win?"

Harry snorted. "Sure, Draco. Whatever you say." But he plunged his hands back into the soapy water, and washed another dish, handing it wordlessly to Draco when he'd finished. Then he washed another. And another.

They worked companionably in silence for a time, until Draco's fingers, reaching blindly for the next dish, closed on empty air. Frowning, he looked up. The massive pile of dirty dishes had vanished, replaced by a neatly stacked pile of clean dishes next to him on the counter. _Surely I didn't dry all those?_ He looked at Harry to ask how he'd cheated, but the question died on his lips. Harry, with nothing left to wash, had leaned one hip against the counter and was watching Draco hungrily. Draco's throat was suddenly dry, and he gulped.

He felt himself lean toward Harry, drawn inexorably toward him, the lodestone to his magnet, when a gleam of mischief surfaced in those wonderfully expressive eyes. Draco started to rear back, but wasn't fast enough. Harry's hand darted behind him, to the sink full of soapy water, and he flicked bubbles into Draco's face.

Draco stared at him in shock, soapy water dripping down his cheeks and dampening his collar. Harry's eyes widened, and Draco saw a flash of fear dart through those eyes. Those damnably attractive eyes. Draco reached up, very deliberately, face carefully expressionless, and wiped bubbles off his cheek. Then he smirked as he lunged at Harry and flicked those bubbles back at him.

And then it was all-out war. They splashed water at one another, flung bubbles, and shrieked with laughter. Draco stalked Harry around the kitchen, while Harry ducked and dove, eluding his grasp. Draco slowly closed the distance between them, backing Harry up against the counter. When Harry's back hit the counter, he sagged back against it. Draco pressed closer, and suddenly they were standing far too close. The adrenaline abruptly drained out of him, and he melted against Harry. A different sort of adrenaline shot through him, and he gasped with the force of it. Harry looked similarly affected, and they leaned closer and closer, until their lips met in a kiss that was inevitable and earth-shaking. Harry's arms snaked around Draco's waist, and he pulled him closer, melding their lower halves together as tightly as their upper halves already were. Draco twined one arm around Harry's neck, curling it into his hair, and the other around his waist. He pressed closer still, smashing his mouth into Harry's as if he meant to devour him.

And then the door opened, banging into the wall as Petunia gasped. Harry and Draco jumped apart, but the damage was already done. Vernon appeared behind her in the doorway, face purpling with rage. He opened his mouth, and a stream of vitriolic hatred washed over them. The words were spoken far too quickly and loudly for Draco to catch all of them, but he heard enough to get the gist. "Boy" and "Fairy" and "Queer" and "Filth" and "Vile" were repeated often, dripping with venom and spittle. Draco had heard worse, living with Voldemort, so he didn't particularly care, but Harry – _Merlin._ Harry had gone paler than Draco had ever seen him, and his face had shut down. His eyes were blank and empty. Draco had seen corpses wear more expression, and it scared him. He felt Harry shrinking back, and stepped protectively in front of him.

He could feel Harry retreating further inside himself, and he couldn't stand it. No one should be able to put out Harry's fire like that. No one. Draco felt all the courage he'd never had flare to life in him at once, and he marched forward, pointing his finger at Harry's uncle. "Don't. You. EVER. Talk to Harry like that again," he growled, walking forward until he was right in front of the man, and jabbing his finger into his chest with every word. "Never. Again. He's put up with enough shit from you over the years." Draco lowered his voice dangerously. "You starved him, humiliated him, locked him in a fucking cupboard. You don't deserve to lick the dirt off his shoes. You've done enough to smother him, to put out his fire. It's a miracle he still has any spirit left. You will _not_ punish him for finding someone to care about. You will _not_ crush the last of his spirit. _I won't let you._ Do you hear me? I. Won't. Let. You. Touch. Him." Draco spat the words into Vernon's face, discarding his mask and letting the man see how much Draco despised him.

He spun on his heel, studying Harry with concern, worried he would have shut everyone out again. _I can't take it if he shuts me out again._ He shoved the thought away. Harry needed him. But Harry was looking at him with something akin to awe, and Draco felt his heart skip a beat. "Harry," he said gently, "I need to get in touch with McGonagall and Severus. Do you have access to an owl I can use?"

Harry nodded mutely, his eyes overflowing with gratitude and love. Draco felt his breath catch at the warmth and emotion he read there, and he had to force himself to turn away. He had a letter to write. He marched up the stairs, stopping at the landing and turning back. "If you so much as touch him," he said dangerously, "any of you, I will make sure that you wish you had never been born." He meant the threat more than any he had made in his life, and they must have felt it, for they both nodded quickly. He glared at them until they stepped away from the kitchen, closing the door and shutting off Draco's view of Harry. He sternly quashed the panic that welled up. Harry could take care of himself while Draco wrote a letter. And he didn't believe they would actually hurt him. They were too afraid of wizards in general, and Draco in particular, for that.

He threw himself into his desk chair, summoned quill and parchment from his trunk, and began to write furiously, ignoring the inkblots that formed when he pushed too hard and the quill skipped. Severus was going to answer for leaving Harry with those vile muggles. McGonagall, too. And Dumbledore, if only Draco could find a way to punish the dead man. Draco's forehead furrowed in thought, then he dismissed the matter from his mind. Vengeance could wait. Harry could not.

* * *

He breathed a small sigh of relief as he watched the tiny owl winging away from the window. Then he turned to Harry, standing silently beside him, and gathered him into his arms.

"The door…" Harry muttered against his lips.

"Hmm?" he asked, toying with the waistband of Harry's shirt. He ran his hands underneath a moment later, stroking the hard planes of Harry's back.

"Lock's on... _Oh_ … the outside. Merlin, Draco!" He shoved at Draco until he stepped back, scowling his displeasure.

"Draco…"

Draco threw up his hands in defeat. "Fine." He turned to survey the room. There has to be – ah. He solved the door problem by the simple expedient of shoving his trunk in front of it.

"Clever," Harry managed, before Draco's mouth was on his once more, silencing him.


	26. Slytherin Scheming

Draco POV

Draco was brought rudely back to consciousness by an insistent tapping at the window. He groaned and shoved at Harry until he shifted the leg that had been trapping Draco to the bed. He stumbled to the window, fumbled with the catch through the bars, and took the letter. Or tried to.

"Ow!" He pulled his fingers back, startled, and glared at the evil ball of fluff. "What was that for?"

"Hmm?" Harry mumbled sleepily.

Draco turned to him, indignant. "Your bloody owl bit me. Bit. Me." He scowled.

Harry scrubbed his hand through his hair – even more tangled than usual, Draco noted, eyes softening as he recalled what had made it that way – and then stood up. "Sorry. Pig's a bit temperamental. I'll get it." Harry reached expertly through the bars and snagged the parchment from the tiny owl's leg. He offered it an owl treat, and the bird hopped up and down, hooting its excitement. Draco felt his lips curling into an unwilling smile at the little thing's antics, and coughed to cover it. "Let's have it then," he said gruffly. Harry grinned at him as he handed the letter over, obviously seeing through his charade, so Draco gave it up. "Where'd you find such an, er, enthusiastic owl?"

Harry snorted. "Ron."

"Of course. Where's yours?"

"Not sure, actually. I lent Hedwig to 'Mione for the summer - it's a shame to keep her caged here, and 'Mione hinted at some mission the Order was sending her on. I felt better knowing she had a way to reach me, if necessary.

"Hmm."

"His name's Pigwidgeon." Harry added helpfully, as Draco's nimble fingers unrolled the parchment. "Pig for short." Then he launched into some tale of how Ron had ended up with the daft little thing, but Draco was no longer listening. His attention had been snagged by the first lines scrawled in Severus' spiky hand. "Fuck," he said softly. He repeated it with more feeling as he scanned the page. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

"Draco?"

Harry leaned toward him worriedly, and Draco lifted his eyes to meet Harry's, fury at Severus' denseness causing him to crumple the parchment violently.

"He has no _right!_ " he spat angrily.

Harry sat down next to him and covered Draco's hands with his own, gently disengaging the parchment from his grip and setting it aside on the bed beside them. "Draco. Tell me. What's wrong?"

Draco sighed, massaging his forehead wearily. "It's Severus. For whatever reason he's... Well." He dropped his hands and looked earnestly into Harry's eyes. "I thought for sure he'd listen. I gave him _plenty_ of reasons. But, no. He still thinks you're exaggerating."

"Which means..."

"Which means," Draco said glumly, "we have to stay here. Oh, he says he'll get us 'earlier than they'd planned,' as if he's making some great concession and rearranging his schedule. As if your horrid muggles aren't the most important thing, or even that important at all, and – "

"Draco." Harry put his hand on Draco's knee, squeezing gently. "He's right."

"What? But – "

"Shh. Listen to me. My aunt and uncle may be vile, but they really aren't that important, in the grand scheme of things. There's a war going on, remember? Voldemort is moving, the Order is probably scrambling, and he and McGonagall and the others probably _are_ really busy."

Draco held up a hand to stop him. "Wait. Go back. What did you just say?"

Harry frowned. "Er, which part?"

Draco just stared at him. "The Voldemort part, Harry, what did you think? How do you know that. Is – Have you been having visions again?"

"Er – "

"You have, haven't you." Draco stood up and started to pace angrily around the room. "Dammit, Harry, I told you to tell me the moment you had another one of those. This is _important_. Now, when did you last have one of these visions?"

Harry sighed. "I know it's important Draco. I don't know exactly why, since you won't tell me, but I trust you, OK? And no, I haven't kept anything from you. I really hadn't had one until just now – and I'd have told you already except I got distracted by Snape's letter."

Draco frowned. "Really?"

"Really."

He sighed. "OK, Harry. But this does change things. I need to write to Severus." He looked around. "And where's that bloody owl?"

"I'll just call him for you, shall I?" Harry said, rolling his eyes. Draco ignored the sarcastic tone, mind already focused on what he would say to Severus.

"You do that. I'll be writing," he said absently.

* * *

By the time Severus' reply arrived, carried by a very tired Pig, Draco was frantic with worry and had paced the length of Dudley's Second Bedroom exactly 3,523 times. Harry had just about driven him to distraction with his pestering and questions Draco wasn't ready to answer – especially not if what he suspected was correct – and had eventually thrown up his hands and taken up a book.

Draco snatched the letter from Harry as soon as he'd wrested it from the exhausted owl, and left Harry cooing inanely over the creature as he threw himself onto the bed and began to read.

He'd managed to read it three times before Harry stopped fussing over the owl and settled himself beside Draco.

"Well?" Harry asked expectantly.

Draco chewed his lower lip. "Severus agrees that this changes things, and he's reluctantly moved our departure up. We leave tomorrow."

Harry's eyes sparked with interest. "Fabulous. Where are we going?"

"It seems they don't trust any of the safe houses to be entirely safe enough, so Severus is taking us back to Hogwarts."

Harry frowned. "Really? Dumbledore never let me stay there during the summer..."

Draco made a face. "Severus makes it _very_ clear that we'll be under his strict supervision, but he also says that your vision agrees with their other reports." He blew out a breath, feeling his tension ratcheting up again. "Voldemort is definitely on the move. The Order expects him to engage them soon – possibly even before term starts, although several of them think he'll move during the Banquet, since he's big on drama." He scanned the letter, looking for one particular paragraph... ah. "The Order members are therefore gathering at the castle as we speak. Your Weasley and Granger will be arriving shortly after we do. We'll be staying with them, and with the other students who are opting to arrive early."

He didn't say why they were arriving early – he didn't need to. They both knew that, in the coming battle, the Order could use all the help it could get.

He looked up at Harry, then. "Says here that Weasley told them of your DA. Apparently McGonagall wants you – and Longbottom, for some reason – to organize as many of the students as possible, both those already members and any others who wish to join, and to conduct combat training."

Harry looked stunned, and not a little alarmed. "But – "

"Of course, he also says he 'doubts the veracity of the rumors of your teaching prowess, and will withhold judgment until he has had the dubious pleasure of witnessing your lessons firsthand.'"

Harry cracked a smile at that. "Why, Severus, how touching. I never knew you had such faith in me."

Draco smiled back at him, tucking the letter into his back pocket. _Of course, Severus is just doing as I asked and getting Harry out of the way so we can figure out a way around his connection to Voldemort without Harry – and by extension Voldemort – getting suspicious. But Harry doesn't need to know that – in fact, he_ can't _know that._ Draco rubbed his forehead, feeling a headache coming on. _And now I_ really _need to talk to Granger. There's no way I can pull this off without her help._


	27. Horcrux

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT AUTHOR'S NOTE: I WILL BE POSTING on Sunday (today), Monday, and Tuesday this week. THEN I WILL HAVE TO SKIP THE USUAL FRIDAY UPDATE. The next chapter will not post until next Monday, May 30. I have to travel for some doctor's appointments, and will probably not have internet access. Thanks for your patience!

Draco POV

Draco stared out towards the lake, trying to catch a glimpse of the giant squid. Harry, of course, claimed to have seen it 'loads of times' but Draco hadn't managed to see it yet. Harry had dragged him out here practically the moment they arrived at the castle, and Draco couldn't find it in himself to be annoyed about it. It felt so _good_ to be outside again - he hadn't realized, in Grimmauld Place, and those last harried days in the Manor, how much he missed feeling the sun on his face. He closed his eyes, turning his face up to soak up as much of the warmth as possible. A light breeze kissed his face, gently ruffling his hair. He had the sudden urge to kick off his shoes to feel the grass and earth beneath his bare feet.

He was surprised to find that he'd _missed_ Hogwarts. He didn't, usually, in the summer. _Well, I didn't admit it, anyway_. Draco frowned. _This new honesty thing is going to take some getting used to._ He glanced at Harry, who had his face turned to the sun, much like Draco had. Draco snorted. Harry actually _had_ kicked off his trainers, and was happily squishing mud between his toes.

"So, Draco, I was thinking – " Harry broke off abruptly, and Draco turned to see what had caught his attention.

Granger pelted across the castle grounds toward them, the Weasel at her heels, a wide grin on her face and hair bouncing merrily.

"Harry! We did it!" she shouted. "We destroyed all the horcruxes!"

Draco whipped his head around to stare at Harry, the peace of the moment broken. "You didn't tell them?"

"Draco – "

"Un-fucking-believable, Harry. Were you even _going_ to tell them?" He felt an irrational anger bubble up from somewhere deep inside himself. And beneath that, down in the darkest depths, he could feel the icy fingers of fear stirring.

"You don't understand – "

"No, I don't. I don't understand why, when you have all of these people who want to help you, who would _die_ to help you, you won't let them. You're lying to them, Harry. Your closest friends. And if you're lying to them about this, then what are you lying to _me_ about?"

"No, I haven't told them, OK? Do you know how you destroy a horcrux, Draco? To destroy the piece of soul inside, you have to destroy the container. The _body_. Even then, only a few things are strong enough." Harry ticked them off on his fingers, motions violent, voice inching louder with each word. "Basilisk Venom. Fiendfyre." He paused to pin Hermione with a steely gaze. "Anything else?"

She shook her head, eyes wide, and whispered, "No, Harry."

"Right then." He turned back to Draco. "Tell me – do you know of any way to survive either of those? Because I sure don't."

Draco felt the blood drain from his face. "But, you don't think Voldemort will use one of those on you, surely?"

There were several gasps behind them, but Harry ignored them, so Draco did too. When Harry spoke, he sounded tired and old beyond his years. His voice was flat and emotionless. "No, Draco. I imagine he'll use the killing curse. That ought to do the trick nicely, don't you think?"

Draco, thrown off-balance by Harry's casual acceptance of his own death, floundered for words. By the time he found some, Harry had already turned away. He brushed past his friends without acknowledging them, stomping off toward the lake.

The Weasel moved to follow, but Granger laid a hand on his arm, holding him in place. "Don't, Ron. He needs to be alone right now." They stood silent, gazing after Harry. They didn't acknowledge Draco; they seemed almost to have forgotten he was there.

Draco turned his head, saw Harry silhouetted against the setting sun, flinging stones angrily into the lake. He sighed. Something had snapped between them, and he felt strangely bereft. He almost turned to go after Harry, then stopped, shoulders slumping in defeat. The rigid lines of Harry's spine, the angry set of his shoulders, told Draco that his presence would be unwelcome just now. Draco allowed himself another few seconds to watch Harry, the fire of the sunset gilding him with golden light. He was beautiful. And untouchable.

Draco slipped past Granger and the Weasel, who were still ignoring him as they focused on Harry. He hesitated for a moment, thinking of his trunks, still in Harry's room. But in the end he turned toward the dungeons; toward the shadows where he belonged. He glared down at his wrist, at the edge of the Dark Mark peeking from below his cuff. Let Granger and the Weasel take Harry back to the light. He was fire, born from it, shaped by it, and they were bright enough to withstand his heat. Draco would only get burned if he tried to approach him now. He reached out, ran his fingers over the chilly stones, breathed the dank, murky air, felt the shadows swirl around him, claim him. He'd been a fool to think he could ever escape them.

* * *

There was a clap of what sounded like thunder, and a brilliant flash of light lit the Slytherin common room, where Draco sat in the dark, gazing into the fire and taking the occasional swig out of the bottle in his hand. He jumped, dropping the bottle and fumbling for his wand, suddenly sure he was about to pay the price for springing Harry from the Manor. He squinted at the figure stalking toward him, wand raised to point steadily at his chest. Then he recognized the bushy hair that crowned the brains of the Golden Trio. He dropped his wand, groaning.

"Bloody hell, Granger!"

Her eyes flicked to Draco's face, the bottle slowly spilling its (very expensive) contents all over the common room floor, his trembling hands, and back to Draco's face. She grimaced and waved her wand, incanting something too quietly for Draco to hear.

His eyes widened as he recognized the wand movement, a split second before the sobriety charm hit him. He doubled over, retching and shaking. After an agonizing few seconds, he straightened, wiping his mouth. "Bloody _hell_ , Granger!" he repeated.

Her lips quirked. "Eloquent, Malfoy. Tell me, are you always this articulate?"

He growled. "You try being hit with an extra-strength sobriety charm! I'd like to see how sodding eloquent _you_ are."

She sniffed. " _I_ wouldn't try to drink myself into oblivion to escape my responsibilities."

"Granger," Draco drawled, "much as I enjoy the dubious pleasure of your company...get to the point."

"Malfoy," she drawled back, in a credible imitation of his bored tone, "Severus said I might find you here. I'd rather hoped he was wrong."

"Hey!" Draco yelped, forgetting to affect boredom in his indignation. "How come you get to call him –"

"Enough!" The shout rang through the common room, silencing Draco instantly. He felt a small glow of satisfaction when Hermione jumped. It was short lived, however. Snape swept into the room, furious glare trained on Draco. "She 'gets to call me Severus' because she, unlike some people, has earned the privilege." He turned a small, almost proud smile on Granger, who preened at the attention. Then the smile dropped, and this time he included her in the glare. "Now, if you _children_ would stop squabbling, we could actually accomplish our task without drawing the inconvenient attention of Mister Potter."

Perhaps deeming them suitably chastened, he turned and swept out the way he had come. Granger held out her hand to Draco. He eyed it dubiously, and she rolled her eyes. "I'm trying to be nice to you, you git. For Harry's sake."

Draco felt his mouth quirking into a smile despite himself. "Tsk, tsk. Language, Granger. I didn't think you had it in you." He took her hand, and allowed her to pull him to his feet.

She shrugged. "If you'd spent the summer as intimate with Ron and the twins as I did, you'd – "

"I'd curse too? Yes, I probably would – Hang on! Did you say _intimate_? With the Weasel _and_ the twins. Merlin, Granger!" Draco backpedaled quickly...

...But not quickly enough. Granger smacked him upside the head. Not quite as hard as she'd punched him that time, but still. "Ew! Not like that, you moron! Ron and I are just friends. The twins too," she added hurriedly. "Honestly, Malfoy."

He grinned at her, unrepentant. "You should have seen your face!"

She glared at him, but was soon giggling. "I suppose I can see a bit of what Harry sees in you."

He deflated instantly. _Harry..._

"Oh, come on. You ought to know as well as I that Harry can't hold a grudge." She looked thoughtful for a moment. "Well, except for when it comes to you, maybe." Then she grinned. "Of course, we see how well _that_ turned out." She grabbed his arm and started dragging him after Snape. "He'll take you back before dinner, and you know it. Chin up, Malfoy, and lets go figure out how to save your reckless idiot."

Draco couldn't keep the sappy smile from his face. MY _reckless idiot. I suppose he is, at that._


	28. An Unlikely Alliance

Draco POV

Draco was surprised, on being shoved into Snape's office by Granger, to find him deep in discussion with Lovegood and the Weasley twins.

"Lovegood," he nodded, when they looked up at him, "Weasley and... _other_ Weasley."

"Call me Fred." One of the twins stood up, holding out his hand. The other twin stood up, then, and offered his hand.

"Or, you could call _me_ Fred, since that's my name, and call this one George." He hooked a thumb toward his brother.

"Er," said Draco.

"Or," said the first twin cheerfully, "you could call me Gred and him Forge. Just don't call us both Weasley."

"Yeah," said the second twin. "That would just be confusing."

"Er," said Draco again. He really didn't see how their alternatives were any _less_ confusing.

Granger sighed. "Boys, play nice."

"They have a point, though," said Pansy, entering with McGonagall and the Weaselette.

_Oh, lord,_ thought Draco, _another Weasley_. _They just don't stop, do they?_

"It really would make things easier," Pansy continued, "if we all used one another's first names. Not to mention being a bit friendlier. So." She looked around the room, meeting everyone's eyes in turn. "On that note, call me Pansy, or Pans. I'll answer to either."

The Weaselette spoke up next from her seat by Pansy. "Ginny. Or Gin." She looked at Draco. "I will _not_ answer to 'the Weaselette' or to 'girl Weasley.'"

Pansy snickered.

"Ooh, ooh, my turn!" Lovegood exclaimed. "I'm Luna."

"Er, Draco."

"Hi, Draco!" said Luna cheerfully.

"Hi, Luna." He couldn't help smiling at her.

"Hermione. 'Mione, if you prefer."

"As I am headmistress, I hardly think it proper for any of you to address me as Minerva. Except for you, Severus, of course. The rest of you... let's just stick with McGonagall. Or Professor, if you must. I would prefer not to be addressed as Headmistress – it makes me feel old."

They all looked to Snape, who rolled his eyes. "Professor ought to be sufficient – Professor Snape would also be acceptable. You may only address me as Severus if given my express permission to do so. Which, for most of you, is extremely unlikely to happen. And, Miss Lovegood – "

"Luna, please, Professor."

" – Miss Lovegood. You will _not_ , at any point, under penalty of _extremely unpleasant_ consequences, address me as 'Sev.'"

Luna smiled beatifically at him. "Whatever you say, Sev."

Snape glared at her. "Twenty - no. _Fifty_ points from Gryffindor, Miss Lovegood, for insubordination and disrespect."

They all gaped at him. "But, Sev," Luna protested, "it's hardly fair to take points from Gryffindor. I am in Ravenclaw, after all."

Snape grit his teeth. " _Fine_. Fifty points from Ravenclaw, Miss Lovegood. The fifty from Gryffindor stands, as I am certain that this is all, in some way, Mister Potter's fault.

Draco worked to keep a straight face. Snape thought _everything_ was Harry's fault. To be fair, it often was. As, for that matter, was this meeting.

McGonagall cleared her throat. "Fifty Points to Ravenclaw, Miss Lovegood, for your honesty, and fifty to Gryffindor for not provoking Severus.

Snape growled. "Not provoking, my - "

McGonagall held up a hand, silencing him, though Draco noticed her ears had gone suspiciously pink. "Now, really, Severus. Have you forgotten that you cannot actually take House points when school is not in session?"

Snape scowled at the ground. "I had not _forgotten_ ," he muttered, "I had just hoped you wouldn't notice."

McGonagall frowned at him. "Twenty points from Slytherin for being a poor sport."

Snape spluttered. "Hey!" He looked around frantically. "Ten points to Slytherin for Miss Parkinson's, um, matching socks, and ten more for Mister Malfoy's good posture."

Draco and Pansy gaped at their Head of House, and Luna giggled madly.

McGonagall hastily tried to regain control, "Right. Mister Malfoy, please tell us everything you can about these wards you want us to help you recreate."

Draco nodded. This made _sense_ , unlike the ridiculous introductions, and the whatever-it-was that followed. _Were McGonagall and Severus_ flirting _? It felt an awful lot like flirting.._. He shook himself from that disturbing train of thought, grateful for the distraction. "The wards at Grimmauld Place have a Higgensburg transformation that seems to work as a sort of reflecting sieve, filtering out and dispersing any attempts to access another's mind, either to feed them false information or to see through their eyes." Draco glanced at Snape's blackboard, already covered in the professor's scrawling hand, and Snape's scowl, as he followed Draco's eyes, shrugged, and transfigured his parchment and quill into a blackboard and chalk. He sketched some figures and equations to illustrate as he spoke.

The others watched with expressions ranging from polite interest to indifference. Draco smiled when his gaze sought out Granger. She was leaning forward, chin propped on both fists, her eyes gleaming with interest as she nodded along. He could practically see the wheels in her head spinning.

Mcgonagall studied his calculations, frowning. "And you think this will keep the Dark Lord out of Harry's head?"

Luna gasped, and Snape made a disbelieving noise. McGonagall turned her frown on him. "Perhaps you'd better give a bit of background, Draco, for those who have not yet been informed."

"Yes, OK. First, to answer your question, yes, I think this will keep him out. Mostly. I'm not willing to stake everything on it, which is why I think we should have an alternate plan, in case Voldemort does manage to spy out the one Harry knows about and is actively involved in."

McGonagall nodded along with his words. "Clever. I agree."

Draco let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding. "As to why: Voldemort gave Harry more than just that scar, the night he killed Harry's parents. He left Harry with a piece of his soul. Harry is a horcrux – the last of Voldemort's horcruxes, since the Order has destroyed the others," he glanced at Granger, who nodded encouragingly. "Being a horcrux means that Harry carries a piece of Voldemort's soul, which allows him to sometimes see into Voldemort's mind – and Voldemort can sometimes see into his."

"Wow." Twin one – may as well call him George – shook his head. "Poor Harry."

"Yeah," twin two – Fred, then – said. "Hey. Wait a minute. How come you can say Vol – the Dark Lord's name? Weren't you a Death Eater?"

Granger opened her mouth, but Draco stopped her with a gesture. "No, Granger - er, Hermione, it's a valid question." _And one I'll be asked a lot in the coming days, I'm sure. May as well get used to answering._

He rolled up his left sleeve, displaying his Dark Mark. "Voldemort gave me this. I hate it. I wish I'd never taken it, but, I can't undo it. Ever." He looked around the circle, meeting everyone's eyes. "When I tried to rescue Harry, and he ended up rescuing both of us, instead, I vowed to turn to the light – to Harry. I made myself learn to say Voldemort – instead of cowering from the name and saying 'the Dark Lord' as I had before – as a sort of test, and a promise. I will die before I turn to Voldemort again, and I will die before I betray Harry."

There was silence for a moment after his impassioned speech, and then the small room resounded with exclamations of "Hear, hear!"

"Oh, that was beautiful, Draco!" Luna exclaimed. Hermione offered him a slightly teary smile.

Pansy studied him with interest. "I think you'll do," she said, somewhat cryptically. But, then, it was Pansy – she was always somewhat cryptic. "You know," she added, "if you gave that speech to the whole of Slytherin house, I think most – if not all – of them would declare their loyalty to Harry and the Order on the spot."

She immediately turned to Luna, and started animatedly discussing ward modifications, so Draco couldn't ask her what she was trying to say. But the wheels had started turning in his head, and he began to piece together the beginnings of a plan. _Bless you, Pans_ , he thought. _It just might work._

"Ahem." Snape's voice cut through the animated chatter. "As... moving as that speech was, I believe we are getting somewhat off topic. Therefore, may I suggest that we either return to the task of creating these wards, or the lot of you move your inane chatter out of my office and leave me in peace?"

McGonagall's cheeks reddened slightly, and she coughed. "Severus is right. We are wasting valuable time. Draco? What do you propose we do next?"

He started, surprised at being asked. "Well, I've worked out the calculations and modifications we'll need to make to the wards, but it would be ideal to have someone else check them."

"I'll do it," Hermione offered, and Draco was relieved that he wouldn't have to ask her. She _was_ the ideal person to check his work.

"I'll help her, and you, Mister Malfoy," McGonagall said, surprising him. "As Headmistress, I know more about the wards on this place than anyone else alive, and I have a fair bit of experience modifying them. You should help us, Severus – you've nearly as much practical experience with them as I have, and a _much_ stronger grasp of the theory."

He gaped at her, but quickly recovered his composure. "I suppose it would be logical for me to assist you," he said grudgingly.

"What about the rest of us?" asked the Weaselette. _She won't know if I call her that in my head_ , Draco rationalized. "What should we do?"

"Draco?" McGonagall turned to him again, and he was once again shocked at how much she was trusting him. _Him_. A Death Eater. Well, former Death Eater. But, still. She was making so much more of an effort now, than when he and Harry were at Grimmauld Place. He wondered, suddenly, how much of that was out of concern for Harry, and how much was for Snape. _She does seem awfully interested in pleasing Snape..._ He shook himself. Now was not the time for idle speculation.

"We need to come up with a plan B," he said. "Something we can implement should Voldemort get wind of the main plan. Something that has a chance of succeeding, should we need to rely on it, and that doesn't rely heavily on Harry." Everyone nodded thoughtfully. "We need something to keep Harry busy, so he doesn't get suspicious of either our work on the wards or of Plan B. Both depend on Harry _not_ knowing about them – and we all know how good he is at sniffing out secrets and sticking his nose where it isn't wanted." He smiled self-deprecatingly, and everyone laughed. "And," Draco added, a sudden inspiration striking him, "we need someone to run interference. Someone who is kept informed of our progress and any developments, but is, rather than actively involved in them, tasked with keeping Harry distracted. Of getting involved with whatever we come up with to keep Harry occupied, and being able to subtly steer him away should he get too close to what we are doing."

Luna clapped. "Oh, that's brilliant, Draco!"

The Weaselette smirked. "I'll run interference, Draco. It's more my style. I'll leave the thinking up of plans to those with more brains. Pans can keep me updated on what's happening with you guys, when I can't make your meetings. 'Cause this is _definitely_ going to take multiple meetings."

Draco nodded.

"I'll help her run interference if she needs backup," Luna added.

The twins nodded. "Us, too. We'll work on your Plan B – it sounds made for us."

Snape rolled his eyes. "Merlin help us all."

"Oh! I have an idea for how to distract Harry!" the Weaselette exclaimed. "He was really into the DA – Dumbledore's Army – last year. So, why not give him a bigger version to work with? Training the Order members – and whichever students want to join, since we all know You-Know-Who will attack once school starts – in offensive, defensive, protective, and dueling magic. The ones who want to learn to fight can come back early, like we have."

"That's a sound plan, Miss Weasley," said McGonagall warmly. "And it should appeal to Harry. In fact, I'd already planned to suggest something similar. But, surely you don't suggest he run it on his own?"

The Weaselette grinned. "Nah. Well, I'll help, obviously, since I'll need to keep tabs on him, and I was thinking that Ron and Neville would be good choices to sort of co-run it with him. They can appoint sub-leaders as they see fit. That way, Harry isn't being singled out, so he won't be as suspicious."

"Maybe include a few non-Gryffindors in the lineup," suggested Hermione. "Blaise is good at defense, right Draco?"

Draco nodded. Blaise would be a good choice.

"Very good. I shall propose the plan to Harry immediately, and ask him which students he thinks likely to want to join. And now I think Miss Granger, Mister Malfoy, Severus and I should go and work on the ward modifications. The rest of you – "

"We'll work on Plan B," Luna interrupted her cheerfully. "We won't know what we're countering before the Order meeting tomorrow night, but we can work on a vague outline and some specific details. I bet the twins have a vast arsenal of pranks we can draw from."

Mcgonagall raised her eyebrows. "Just – try and keep it realistic. And practical. As much as you all can," she added in an undertone.

"Oh, yes. Of course!" Luna said brightly.

"I'll join them," said the Weaselette. "I have some ideas."

Draco didn't envy Pansy, working with those four. But, then, she didn't look upset by the prospect. In fact, she looked almost... excited. He shrugged, banishing Pansy and Weasleys and everything that wasn't wards from his mind as he turned to answer a question from Hermione.


	29. Outmaneuvered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> OK, guys. No more chapter updates until next Monday the 30th, remember. (We're skipping the Friday update this week, in other words, and having an extra one today instead.) Thanks for your patience!

Draco POV

"That's it then." McGonagall lowered her wand, yawning. "Excuse me." She patted Draco's shoulder absently. "Good work, Mister Malfoy. I think we've all done all we can – now we'll just have to wait and see. Now, I'm for bed, and I strongly recommend the rest of you do the same. I'll speak to Mister Potter about the modified DA tomorrow."

Draco looked around blearily. Hermione and Snape looked almost as exhausted as McGonagall did – almost as exhausted as Draco felt. He stretched. It was a _good_ exhaustion though – the kind that followed hard work well done. He agreed with McGonagall's assessment – the modified wards were as strong as they could make them. He hoped they would be enough.

He glanced over at Pansy, Luna, and the Weasley trio. They were seated on cushions on the floor – transfigured, they had to be; they looked more Luna's style, with those tassels, and he sincerely doubted Snape kept anything that violent shade of pink in his office – heads bent close together, dark, light, and flaming red hair intermingling as they whispered. They didn't look nearly as tired as Draco's group did, but, then, they hadn't been wrangling and modifying ancient wards for hours, either.

Draco fervently hoped that it would be a _very_ long time before he had to expend quite as much magical energy as he had in the past several hours. He glanced at the clock, shocked to see how late it had gotten. They'd missed dinner. He considered popping down to the kitchens for a snack, but decided he was too tired. Food would just have to wait 'til tomorrow.

Hermione grabbed him as he made his way to the door. "Just a moment, Draco," she said firmly. "We're not quite done."

He turned, frowning, to find she'd been joined by Pansy, Luna, and the Weaselette.

"We're off, mate," said the twin Draco had determined to call George, clapping him on the shoulder.

"Good luck with that," added Fred.

Draco frowned. "Whatever this is, surely it can wait until tomorrow, when I've regained the ability to form a coherent thought," he said, without much hope.

Pansy patted his shoulder. "No, Draco darling, it really can't."

"Although," the Weaselette smirked, "the faster you admit we're right, the faster you can go to bed."

"With Harry," Luna added.

 _Oh._ Draco sighed. "I _really_ don't have the energy for this right now..." he pleaded. But they were entirely unsympathetic.

"Sorry, Draco, but we really must do this before it gets any later," Pansy said. She didn't sound nearly as sorry as Draco would have liked.

"Just listen," Hermione said firmly. "I know you're upset about how Harry acted earlier, and you have some right to be. Harry has always been a bit... volatile, about certain subjects. Surely you've noticed?" She smirked at him, and Draco gave her a tiny smile in return. "But one thing you have to know about Harry," she continued, "especially if you plan on being with him for long, is that his temper burns out almost as quickly as it flares up. I'm afraid he'll probably explode at you often, Draco. You just have to be patient with him, give him a little time and space to think things through, and he'll come round, full of remorse and apologies, before the day is out." She frowned thoughtfully. "I think it probably has something to do with those horrible muggles who raised him. He hasn't told Ron or I much – he prefers not to think of them while he's here, I think – but but he's said enough for me to form some theories."

Draco cracked a smile at that – he couldn't help it. Hermione _did_ like her theories. The smile faded quickly, though. "They abused him," he said flatly. "I saw a bit of it, while we were there. I don't know how Dumbledore could sleep at night, after leaving Harry with those horrid excuses for human beings!" He sighed. They were getting off-topic, and he needed this discussion to end soon so he could sleep. "I know you're right, though. About Harry's temper. I just – "

Luna patted his shoulder. "We know, Draco. All we're asking is that you give Harry another chance."

Draco nodded, yawning. "I guess I can do that."

"Excellent." Ginny clapped him on the shoulder, rather more violently than the others had. "That's all we ask. Now, C'mon. Let's go beg the house elves for some food. I'm _starving_."

* * *

When they got to the kitchens, Draco realized he'd been thoroughly out-maneuvered. Fred and George were sitting at the table, Harry wedged firmly between them. He looked up, breaking off mid-word when Draco walked in.

"Right, we're off, then," said Fred, standing up and clapping Harry on the back.

"C'mon, girls," added George, brandishing a large wicker basket. "We've got grub – let's take it back to the common room and get up a game of exploding snap!"

Luna waved at Draco as they left, and Pansy winked at him. Cheeky bints. They'd _planned_ this. And since when did Pansy willingly hang out in the _Gryffindor_ common room?

He and Harry stood, staring at one another, for long minutes after the others had left. Finally, Harry moved.

"Draco," he breathed, pulling him into his arms. "I'm sorry – I shouldn't have taken my anger out on you. It's not your fault I'm in this bloody impossible situation." He moved slightly away from Draco, studying him. "Where were you? I looked all over for you, to apologize."

Draco blushed. "I, er, was sulking down in the dungeons. Hermione found me."

"Oh." Harry frowned. "Did you want me to take your things down there? I mean," he said hurriedly, when Draco felt his face fall, "I don't _want_ to. I want you to come back to my – to _our_ room. With me. Please?"

Draco pulled him close again in answer, hoping his body could say what his words couldn't, when he was this tired. Harry didn't seem to have any difficulty understanding, and he smiled one of his blindingly brilliant smiles. "Come on," he said, holding out his hand. He picked up a much smaller basket with the other. "I've got some food here. We can eat in the room."

Draco, limp with relief, accepted his hand willingly, and let Harry lead him back to their room. They would have to talk more about it tomorrow, he knew, and they would no doubt get into many more similar arguments in the days to come, not to mention that Draco would have to somehow hide his involvement in his secret plotting – even though he was plotting for the right side, this time, he was still plotting – but, for tonight, everything was OK. And that was good enough for him.

* * *

Draco woke up the next morning deliciously cozy, wrapped so tightly around Harry that it took him long minutes to sort out which parts were his. He attempted to extricate himself without waking Harry, but failed, as usual. Harry's arm snaked out, pulling Draco tightly against him.

"Nope," he said sleepily, yawning and rubbing his eyes, "not getting away that easily."

Draco huffed in amusement. "Fine. But I really will have to get up in a minute."

"Hmmm," Harry mumbled into the pillow. His arm didn't relax its hold.

Draco waited a few minutes, then shoved at him. "Harry..."

Harry groaned, then slowly lifted his head from the pillow, blinking blearily at Draco and then grinning at him. "G'morning."

Draco snorted. "Good morning to you, too. _Now_ may I get up?"

"Nope. I'm not ready to share you yet." He leaned in and kissed Draco deeply. When they pulled apart, his face turned serious. "I wish we'd had time to do something to get back at the Dursleys before we left."

Draco sighed. They'd discussed this more than once. Draco had been all for punishing them with magic. Harry had argued against that, saying they'd most likely be caught, and Draco certainly didn't need the Ministry breathing down his neck. Which, Draco supposed, was likely true. Draco hadn't mentioned to Harry that he knew _several_ spells that were virtually untraceable, and that used so little magic, it was likely no one would ever know. Nor had he mentioned that he'd used several of them. They were subtle, of course - the muggles would probably never even guess that he'd cursed them.

He'd chosen his enactment of Harry's revenge well, he thought. He'd found the perfect curse for each of them. For Dudley, the dull, doughy cousin, he'd chosen one that would mimic a selection of muggle medical conditions. He would no doubt be horrified to find that his sense of smell (and, therefore, taste) would diminish over the coming months, until he would be unable to taste anything. Then, too, his body would now reject certain foods, becoming unable to process them. Even before he lost his sense of taste, he would find that all of his favorite foods would make him violently ill. And, in the end, it would probably do him good. _A limited diet composed mostly of vegetables will do his figure a world of good._

For Vernon, prone to vitriolic explosions, he chose a curse that mimicked a muggle heart condition. His doctors would no doubt limit his diet and caution him to avoid getting worked up - and possibly even give him medications to calm him. _A similar diet to Dudley's, and a reason to tamp down on his rage - his family will no doubt be pleased, in the end_. _The muggle doctors may even recommend he take up something like yoga._ He snorted at the mental image.

Petunia had been the trickiest, he thought. She wasn't violent or verbally or physically abusive, like Dudley and Vernon - she was just prejudiced against witches and wizards, and entirely too interested in gossip. And there was the chore list, too. After much thought, Draco had settled on a curse that would dull her hearing and vision just enough that she would be unable to easily snoop on the neighbors from behind her lace curtains. It would also make her crave sweets - more of a punshment for Dudley and Vernon, really - and cause tiny little freak accidents on occasion. Nothing major; nothing enough to catch the notice of the Ministry, like bouts of rogue magic would. Just enough to make her worry that she had managed to "catch" magic from Harry after all. Or that she'd had it all along, like her sister, and it was only now appearing. The doubt would haunt her, Draco knew, and she'd never be able to share her worries with her husband or son, for fear of their prejudice being turned upon her.

Of course, he could never tell Harry. If the Ministry ever _did_ get wind of it, Harry could honestly say he didn't know. If Draco did go down for this, he wasn't going to take Harry down with him. That would defeat the point of the exercise. 

"Yeah," Draco said thoughtfully, "too bad." He tugged Harry's face down to his, in a bid to distract him from the topic. To his astonishment - this was _Harry_ he was talking about, after all, and definitely not known for letting things go - it worked.


	30. Moldy Voldy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya guys!! *waves spastically* I'm back (finally) from travelling to see the doctor. Not "The Doctor" as in Who, unfortunately. Because, lets face it, Time and Space and aliens-that-want-to-kill-you are way cooler than migraines-that-want-to-kill-you. Anyway. A new chapter! Enjoy!

Harry POV

"Right, well, I think that's everything." Arthur reached for his gavel. Harry smiled, remembering the day a tipsy Ron had confided to Harry that the muggle artifact was the only thing keeping his dad from bolting in sheer terror on days he was forced to conduct Order meetings.

Harry cleared his throat, forcing himself to focus. "I have something to say," he called, pitching his voice to carry over the quiet conversations that had started up.

Arthur looked at him in surprise. "Yes, Harry?"

"I've told some of you that I was bringing a friend tonight - someone who could be a powerful ally."

Arthur looked around, confused. "Yes?"

Harry waited a beat, until everyone was looking at him, then coughed nervously. "Right. Well, here he is." He reached over and yanked off the invisibility cloak, revealing Draco.

There was a moment of shocked silence, and then the muttering started.

"What does _he_ have to offer that we could _possibly_ want?"

Draco lifted his chin. "Slytherin House."

Even Snape looked startled.

Several people started talking at once. Arthur Weasley clapped his hands. "I'll have order, if you please!"

Fred snickered. "We are _the Order_ , after all," he stage-whispered to George.

Arthur glared at them before turning to Draco. "When you say Slytherin House..."

"I mean that I can offer you the loyalty of _every_ member of Slytherin House." He raised a sardonic brow. "None of us is particularly pleased with our parents' choices, of late. "

"Malfoy? Defecting?" Ron's strident voice broke the thoughtful silence.

"Yeah, well...turns out Moldy Voldy and I don't get along. Something to do with the fact that he's a raving lunatic," Draco drawled. He lounged against the wall, the picture of aristocratic ease.

Harry clenched his hands at his sides to keep from putting a reassuring hand on his shoulder. Draco's ease was entirely feigned – Harry could see the strain in his shoulders, the tenseness to his fingers. _Merlin._ He could feel himself tensing further, aching to do something – anything – to relax Draco. But he daren't act yet – Draco had to prove to the Order that he was acting on his own.

Harry tore his eyes away from Draco when the silence stretched on. He looked over the room to see everyone's jaw dropped. Finally Neville whispered "Moldy...Voldy?" Dean snorted, and then Seamus, and then they were all howling with laughter. Fred and George stepped forward, and Harry tensed again, but instead of attacking, they each slung an arm around Draco.

"That's gold, mate!" Fred shouted.

"You _have_ to let us use it – " George added.

" – in our newest product – " Fred continued.

" – It could win us the bloody war!" they ended together.

Draco looked skeptically up at them. "And just what might this new product be?" he asked. Harry had to give him points for maintaining his composure whilst sandwiched between the 'terrible twins'.

They just grinned at him. Then they leaned in and whispered into his ears. Draco's eyes widened, and a startling grin split his face. "Oh!" he whispered, "that is _bloody brilliant!_ "

They tugged him away, whispering excitedly. Draco shot an apologetic glance over his shoulder, and Harry grinned and waved him on. This had turned out better than he'd dared hope. With the Weasley twins' acceptance, everyone else had little choice but to accept Draco too.

Harry's eyes met Ron's, and his grin faltered. Ron glared accusingly at him, then turned his back. "C'mon 'Mione." She hesitated, but Harry forced a smile and waved her on. He wouldn't let himself come between the two of them. He just hoped Ron would get used to Draco, in time.

* * *

Harry blinked at the buttons, taking a moment to absorb the words that flashed before his startled eyes. Then he turned to Draco. "You don't think those are a bit harsh?" he asked gently.

Draco shrugged. "Yeah, well. They chose their side; I chose mine."

Harry sighed. "Draco..."

Draco turned to him, annoyance surfacing on his pale features. "Harry. I mean it. This is war – calling my parents names is hardly the worst that will happen. They've never done anything to earn my respect – I'm not going to give it to them anymore." He glanced sidelong at Harry. "Anyway, I've called you worse. _Potty._ "

Harry pulled him into a tender embrace. "You're so brave," he said, nuzzling Draco's neck, "standing up to them like that."

"Mmm. Well. Maybe I've finally found my Gryffindor courage." He turned in Harry's arms, pressing a kiss to Harry's cheek."

Harry pulled back to stare at him. "All right. Who are you, and what have you done with _my_ Draco?"

Draco laughed, light and musical. "What, too Hufflepuff for you?"

Harry kissed him again, breaking away reluctantly to gasp, "More kissing. Less talking."

* * *

Hermione bit her lip. “I’m sorry, Harry, but you really need to do this yourself.”

“But, Hermione – ” Harry pleaded.

Hermione shook her head. “C’mon Ginny, let’s go see what Pansy’s up to.”

“I don’t see what you want with _her_ ,” Ron grumbled. “Barmy, the lot of you, befriending Slytherins right and left...”

Hermione and Ginny shot him nearly identical pitying looks. Hermione patted Harry on the shoulder, Ginny punched him in the other shoulder, and then they wandered off. Harry rubbed his shoulder, wincing.

“So, mate, what was it you wanted to tell me?”

“Well, er, Draco and I - ”

“Oh, not you too! Can’t anyone go five minutes without mentioning a Slytherin?”

“Erm. You see, Ron, I – ”

Harry looked down, scraped the toe of his sneaker in a nervous arc. Ron looked at him, open, trusting. _I can’t do it. I can’t break that trust in me…_

“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Ginny’s voice floated over to them. Harry looked up to see her scowling at him in exasperation. Her eyes flashed, and Harry felt his own eyes widen.

“Gin, no!” He mouthed, horrified.

“Harry’s gay, Ron!” she shouted. “Sorry, Harry,” she mouthed back at him.

Ron frowned. “What did she say, mate?” Harry smacked his forehead.

“She said – ”

Draco appeared beside him, grinning wickedly. “She said he likes to suck cock.”

Harry groaned and covered his rapidly reddening face with both hands. “Draco…”

“Well, you do,” Draco said smugly.

Harry glanced through his fingers at Ron’s shocked face, then beyond him to Hermione and Ginny – and, oh, lovely, Pansy had joined them – who were convulsed with gales of laughter. He rolled his eyes. “Actually, I’m reconsidering that.”

“Y’know,” Draco said hurriedly, “I just remembered something I need to ask… Ginevra! Wait up!”

Ginny stopped laughing to stare at Draco incredulously. “Not even my _mother_ calls me that!”

“Whyever not? It’s a very pretty name, very feminine and…”

He stuttered to a halt, probably noticing her dangerous scowl. “Er, very strong, I meant. And, er, manly?”

Pansy actually fell over laughing this time. Ginny smirked at him. “My friends call me Ginny. Well, Harry calls me Gin, actually, and I think you should too. Yes,” she stuck out her hand, “call me Gin.”

Draco stared at her hand for a moment, then licked his lips nervously and shook it gingerly. “Er, hello Gin.” He cocked his head to the side, studying her. “Yes. Suits you much better. Very manly.”

Ginny punched him in the shoulder. Harry winced in sympathy, rubbing his own shoulder where she’d punched him earlier. Draco yelped. “Ow! Owowow! What was that for?”

That set the girls off again. Ginny slung an arm over Draco’s shoulder, Pansy slung an arm over his other shoulder, and they dragged him off toward the castle.

Harry turned back to Ron, who was staring at him and turning a most alarming shade of green.

“You’re – they’re – I mean – You don’t really – ”

Harry sighed. “Yes, Ron. I’m gay. And dating Draco.”

“I think I need to sit down,” Ron said faintly.

Harry sighed. “Come on. Why don’t we go down to the kitchens and get the house elves to make us a snack?”

Ron perked up. “Ooh, food! Good idea, mate! Hey! D’ya s’pose they have bacon?”


	31. Into the Slytherins' Lair

Draco POV

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Harry chewed nervously on his lower lip. “You don’t have to, you know. They’ll let you into the Order even if you don’t. I’ll _make_ them.”

Draco smiled. “Merlin, you’re cute when you go all dark and determined, Harry.”

Harry scowled. “I am not _cute._ ”

“Oh, but you are. Sexy, too, in a dark and broody way.”

Harry cuffed him. “Oh, shut up.” He turned back to the mirror Draco had installed on the wall by their beds. “Do I look all right? Maybe I should wear that other shirt…”

Draco sighed. “For someone who walks around looking like they just rolled out of bed all the time, you sure do spend a lot of time in front of the mirror.”

The (adorable) crease between Harry’s brows deepened. “They’re _Slytherins_ , Draco! I just don’t want them to judge me.”

Draco was tempted to reply with ‘of _course_ they’ll be judging you. They’re _Slytherins_ , after all,’ but refrained. Barely. Instead, he grabbed Harry’s shoulders and forcibly spun him around. “Harry. You look fine. You’ll be under an _invisibility cloak_ , anyway. _No one will see you_.”

“Until the end. Then they’ll see me.” But he allowed Draco to propel him toward the bed, where the invisibility cloak in question lay.

They halted by the bed together, and while Harry rummaged for something in his trunk, Draco surveyed their little ‘room’ with a smile. He was quite proud of their ingenuity in setting it up.

When they’d arrived at Hogwarts, McGonagall had met them at the door. She’d explained that, since only a few students were returning early, it seemed silly to prepare all four House dorms. Since the majority of those returning early were Gryffindors, she had decided to house them all there.

Draco had actually been surprised to find Pansy in the common room a few days later. Even more so to learn that she’d been kicked out of her parents’ house when she refused to take the Mark, and had been living with the Weasleys, of all people, ever since. She and Ginny had apparently struck up a friendship, and Hermione and Luna soon joined their group. And Pansy seemed… happy. Happier than when she’d had only Slytherins to socialize with.

McGonagall had, predictably, kept the boys and girls separated within the Gryffindor dorms. Not that that bothered Draco. It had been Harry’s idea to grab the corner beds – on grounds that Draco would feel safer with a wall at his back and Harry between him and the other students. Which was true, certainly. But, more importantly, it had given them leeway to arrange their own ‘room’ within the larger room.

They’d moved the furniture, shoving the beds together and using the desks to separate them from the rest of the room. Draco had then transfigured sheer privacy curtains that they’d suspended over the desks, taking the bed curtains as their model. Draco had layered privacy wards over the curtains, keyed so either he or Harry could isolate themselves from the rest of the room with a single keyword or wand gesture.

At night, they closed the curtains around the outside of their beds, leaving the ones in the middle open, creating one larger bed. No one had objected, so they’d continued to share a bed as they’d done in Grimmauld place. It still kept away most of the dreams.

They’d been afraid that McGonagall would make Draco return to the Slytherin dorms once school started, but Draco had asked to stay where he was, since he didn’t feel entirely safe in Slytherin anymore. McGonagall had reluctantly agreed, on the condition that Harry’s other dorm mates were OK with it. Since they had all returned early, they had already been sharing the room, and had gotten used to Draco’s presence by then. They had easily agreed.

So, Draco found himself practically an honorary Gryffindor, and was shocked to find that he liked it. He liked the easy camaraderie and playful teasing. He liked not having to constantly be on his guard, alert for backstabbing. He liked lounging around with Harry and his friends, laughing and joking and playing Wizarding chess with Ron, and exploding snap with Dean and Seamus, and debating thorny bits of magical theory with Hermione. He especially liked having a window that opened to the outside. The windowsill by their bed had quickly become his favorite spot to sit and read, or just stare out over the castle grounds and forbidden forest and think.

Harry finally emerged from his trunk with an exclamation of triumph, and Draco smiled. “Finally,” he said, rolling his eyes.

Harry grinned at him, pocketed the whatever-it-was, and swirled the silvery cloak about his shoulders with a practiced grace that made Draco’s mouth go dry. Then Harry raised the hood over his head and disappeared with a wink. “Showtime.”

Draco swallowed down his sudden nervousness, squared his shoulders, glanced at the mirror to make sure his hair was perfect, and then strode out of the room, the comforting invisible presence of Harry warm by his side as they made their way to the dungeons.

They entered the Slytherin common room together. Draco felt invisible fingers curl through his, just for a moment. Then they were gone. He pictured Harry gliding silently to lean against the wall, as they’d planned. He would remain invisible until Draco signaled him to drop the cloak, one last argument to convince the Slytherins to join the Order.

 _Assuming we get that far, and they don’t run us out. Or truss us up as a gift for Voldemort. Or just kill us._ Draco swallowed, and he surreptitiously wiped suddenly clammy hands on his trousers. “Is everyone here?” he asked, struggling to keep his voice even.

Every pair of eyes in the room swiveled instantly to fix on him, cold and calculating. Snape entered, then, from the dorms, shepherding a pack of wide-eyed first-years ahead of him.

 _He must have been showing them their dorm._ For all that Snape could be cold, spiteful, and vindictive, he was a good Head of Slytherin House. Draco smiled, remembering his own first visit to the fabled Slytherin dungeons. _Was I ever that young?_ The first-years looked overawed – and no wonder. They’d have come straight here from the Great Hall, after the Welcome Banquet and Sorting.

Voldemort hadn’t attacked during the Welcome Banquet, despite the Order’s fears. It had been almost worryingly normal.

“We are now,” Snape said dryly, bringing Draco sharply back to the present. Snape fixed his own eyes on Draco, betraying only a mild curiosity. _You’d never know he helped me plan this._ _Of course, he_ is _double-crossing Voldemort. He has to be good at not betraying what he really thinks._ Draco swallowed again. _This is it._


	32. Trump Card

Harry POV

Harry settled in against the wall and watched. Draco projected calm and cool, but Harry knew better. He knew Draco’s tells, now. The way he swallowed, the tiny crease on his forehead, the subtle tapping of his fingers, the tension in his spine, held ramrod straight. Yes, Draco was nervous. Harry tried to project reassurance. He didn’t think he managed it, but Draco shifted subtly, squared his shoulders, raised his chin – every inch the proud Malfoy – and began to speak.

Draco faltered occasionally, but recovered quickly. No one seemed to notice – they stared, rapt, hanging on his every word as he told them what it was _really_ like to live with a madman. The fear and guilt and shame that were his constant companions. The way he’d been forced to torture, and been tortured himself. The way he had come to hate Voldemort – there was a collective gasp when Draco spat the name – to hate his parents, for going along with the madman’s increasingly violent whims, to hate himself, for being unable to escape the madness.

Harry longed to go to him, to embrace him and reassure him that those horrific days were in the past.

But he couldn’t. Not yet. Harry clenched his fists and forced himself to listen.

Draco told of his escape from Malfoy Manor – how he was trying to help Harry, and how Harry had ended up rescuing them both. Harry thought that Draco gave him far too much credit, but determined to hold his peace. For now.

Draco thrust his left arm forward, startling Harry, and shoved up his sleeve, baring the Dark Mark that stained his skin.

“ _This,_ ” he spat, “will mark me forever. It will never come off – I’ll never be rid of it. I will bear this ugly reminder of my mistakes for the rest of my life. I wish I could take it back – but I can’t. All I can do is renounce it – renounce my past mistakes – and choose to fight on the right side of this ridiculous vendetta masquerading as a war.”

Draco was panting by the time he’d finished his rant, and Harry was tempted to cast a sticking charm on his feet to stop himself from running to Draco’s side.

There was utter silence for a moment as everyone digested Draco’s words. Then, Blaise spoke up.

“That’s all well and good,” Blaise drawled, "but you’ve not mentioned how you plan to live, now that your parents have most likely disowned you. I mean, look at Pansy. Her father disowned her when she refused the Mark – she’s been slumming with the Weasleys ever since.”

Draco flushed slightly, and Harry felt a moment of guilt. He hadn’t considered that. Draco had been staying with him – neither of them had given any thought to who was paying for their food and other necessities. Well, he certainly hadn’t, and he assumed Draco hadn’t either. They’d let Kreacher take care of that. It gave him something to do, besides rattle around in that huge empty house.

 _Oh._ Harry looked back at Draco, who still looked rather lost. _Right then._ This wasn’t in their plans – but plans could be changed.

Harry stepped forward, throwing off the invisibility cloak and letting it pool on the floor by his feet. He was met by a roomful of blank, if not overtly hostile, stares.

“He’s been staying with me,” he said, stepping to Draco’s side and taking his hand, lacing their fingers together. He squeezed Draco’s hand briefly in apology for going off-script, and was relieved to feel an answering squeeze in return. He then turned back to the stunned Slytherins. Blaise was the first to recover.

“That’s good for him, I suppose, but what about the rest of us? Are you going to offer _us_ a place to stay, too?”

Harry didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

Everyone stared at him. Not that they weren’t already, but now the cold glares had turned incredulous.

Blaise narrowed his eyes. “You’re having us on.”

“No, I’m not.” Harry met his eyes earnestly. “I inherited the Black House from my Godfather, Sirius – that’s where Draco and I stayed this summer, after he rescued me.” He turned to smile at Draco, knowing he probably looked a besotted fool, but not really caring, and then turned back to address the room at large. “It’s a big house. Comes with a house-elf and everything.”

Draco snorted quietly beside him, and squeezed his hand again.

“It’s a bit gloomy,” Harry continued, “but could be quite nice, with a little work. You’re welcome to stay in it, if you need to. All of you. If you join the Order – join us – against Voldemort, and your families disown you, and you need a place to stay, after Hogwarts, then you can stay with me.

“With us,” Draco corrected, smiling at him.

“Well,” Blaise managed, “that would certainly be… interesting.” Then he frowned. “What about food? It’s not free, Potter, even if you _do_ have a house-elf.”

Harry scowled. “I know that. I’ve got money – the Potter and Evans vaults, and the Black vaults too, from Sirius. And, anyway, I expect you could find _some_ kind of work.” He rolled his eyes at the expression of mock-horror on Blaise’s face.

Secretly, Harry wanted to hug Blaise. Blaise had neatly maneuvered everyone onto their side, by the look of it. Draco seemed to think so too – and then Harry saw Blaise wink, and knew he’d been on their side from the beginning. But, now, nearly every head was nodding, and nearly every expression was thoughtful.

Then Goyle spoke up. “And if the Dark Lord wins, and we’re on the losing side?”

Draco’s voice startled Harry, coming from right beside his ear. He hadn’t realized how close they’d gotten. “Then I’ll take the fall. I coerced you into following me – threatened you, even – I’ll deflect as much of the blame as I can.”

“ _We’ll_ take the fall,” Harry corrected.

Snape’s voice rang with authority in the sudden quiet. “As will I.” He strode to the front of the room to stand beside Harry and Draco. Then he stuck out his left arm, next to Draco’s, and deliberately rolled up the sleeve of his robe, displaying the angry Mark that marred his pale flesh. “What I tell you now doesn’t leave this room,” he said, meeting every pair of eyes in turn. “I took this Mark long ago, in a foolish mistake much like Mister Malfoy’s, though I did it for entirely selfish reasons, and not, like Mister Malfoy, to protect those I loved.”

“Much good that did,” Draco muttered, but snapped his mouth shut when Snape fixed him with his trademark glare.

“As I was saying, it was a foolish mistake that I cannot take back. _However_ , I chose to renounce the Dark Lord, and approached Dumbledore during the last war. He accepted me into his ‘Order of the Pheonix,’” Snape’s upper lip curled, showing what he thought of the name, “but asked me to return to the Dark Lord and pretend to serve him, all the while spying for the Order. It is dangerous, which is why very few know about it, and why it must not leave this room.” He paused. “And it is also why I tell you this now, and offer you _my_ protection, in addition to that of Mister Potter and Mister Malfoy.”

Harry nodded at Snape when he finished, offering a grudging respect. He still didn’t _like_ the man – still considered him to be a greasy git, in fact – but he had to admit that, git or not, Snape had turned the tide in their favor.

One by one, every member of Slytherin House came forward and pledged their support. Harry met Draco’s eyes and nodded. Then he stepped back to watch as Draco and Snape and the rest of the Slytherins plotted how best to announce their support to the Order. He shook his head, amused, as he looked on. _If I ever need to arrange something with maximum drama, I’ll have to remember to ask a Slytherin._


	33. Wild Card

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick reminder that I'm sending my first novel (a YA fantasy) to beta readers today. Details on my profile - PM me if you're interested in reading it & providing feedback

Harry POV 

Dinner the next day was more cramped than usual, with the Great Hall fairly splitting at the seams with the addition of tables to seat every non-student-or-teacher member of the Order.

From the confused looks and general hubbub, Harry assumed that McGonagall had neglected to tell the Order Members why she required their presence. Then McGonagall stood to address the assembled student body, teachers, and Order Members, and Harry realized that she probably didn’t know, herself. Her first words confirmed it.

“You are probably all wondering about the presence of our dinner guests this evening.” McGonagall slanted her best sardonic look at Snape, who seemed less than impressed. “Frankly, I’m wondering that, myself. I have asked you all to be here at the request of my colleague, Professor Severus Snape. Severus? Care to enlighten us?”

Snape rose, bowing slightly, as McGonagall ceded her place to him. “Thank you, Minerva. I stand before you all tonight in the role of Head of Slytherin House.” Shifting and muted muttering greeted his words, and Snape glowered over the crowd. “ _Silence_ , if you please. Now. Many of you probably know, or have guessed, that our guests tonight are members of the Order of the Phoenix, formerly headed by the late Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, and currently headed by our current Headmistress, Minerva McGonagall. What you may not know, however, is that I, myself, am a member of the Order, and as such am qualified to sponsor new members to our ranks.” He raised his voice to speak over the intensified muttering that followed his announcement.

“In a moment, I will ask that those students who spoke with me yesterday about joining the Order will please come forward and swear your loyalty with a _Binding_ Oath.” The muttering grew louder; Snape spoke determinedly on. “Minerva? Will you accept these Binding Oaths?”

McGonagall looked flustered. “Well I – it’s highly irregular, but – yes, Severus. Of course I will accept them.” She stared, openly curious now.

Snape nodded. “Excellent. Then, will those students please rise and come forward?”

As every member of Slytherin House stood, all the way to the tiny first-years, the mutters rose in volume until the sound rolled around the room, reverberating like thunder.

Harry half-rose from his seat at the Gryffindor table, not entirely certain what to do at this point – he obviously hadn’t paid close enough attention to the plotting yesterday - and Snape rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes, you too, Mister Potter. I wouldn’t _dare_ attempt to separate you from Mister Malfoy, even if you are _already_ a member of the Order.”

“I haven’t sworn a Binding Oath,” Harry said, puzzled.

Snape rolled his eyes again. “That, Mister Potter, would be because you are _Harry Potter_. Most likely Albus thought it would be rather redundant to force you to swear a Binding Oath to _fight the Dark Lord_.”

“Oh.” Harry flushed.

“Oh, indeed, Mister Potter. Now _please_ join Mister Malfoy so that we can proceed.”

“Oh. Er. Right.” Harry ducked his head and hurried to Draco’s side, carefully not meeting anyone’s eyes. Draco bumped his shoulder against Harry’s and brushed their fingers together lightly, and Harry relaxed. McGonagall’s face, as she gravely accepted the Oaths, was most diverting. Especially when the Oaths were stuttered by the wide-eyed first-years. The older Slytherins gave their Oaths with grace and charm – Blaise actually drew a blush from McGonagall’s cheeks when he kissed her hand before rising – and every one left no doubts as to their honesty and sincerity. Everyone there knew that a magically Binding Oath was no small thing.

When Draco’s turn finally came, his fingers once again brushed hesitantly against Harry’s. Harry quickly laced his fingers through Draco’s, joining their hands and refusing to let go. They walked forward together, and when Draco knelt, Harry did too. He never relinquished Draco’s hand, and they said their Oath together. McGonagall pursed her lips tightly together, clearly trying to hold in her amusement, but she gravely accepted their joint Oath; only her twinkling eyes gave her away.

Draco moved to rejoin his housemates, once they’d risen, but Harry refused to release his hand, pulling him up short. Then, when Draco turned back to him, a crease forming between his brows and a question on his lips, Harry used his hold on Draco’s hand to tug him close, pulling him flush against his body. Then he kissed him.

The murmurs, which had quieted while the Oaths were being given, roared back to life, punctuated by cheers, whistles, and spontaneous applause. Draco reddened becomingly, and Harry felt his own face flush.

Harry held up a hand for silence, and was astonished when he actually got it. “Yes, I’m gay,” he said, rolling his eyes at the sudden hush, “and, yes, I’m dating Draco Malfoy. Now that I’ve got your attention, however, I would like to extend an offer to all of you who have not yet pledged your loyalty to the Order – the same offer I have already extended to the members of Slytherin House.”

He paused, letting the anticipation build, for a moment, and took the opportunity to return Draco’s amused smirk. “But first, I have something else to say. I trust Draco, here, with my life – he’s already saved it, once, when he rescued me from Malfoy Manor this summer.” Harry could tell Draco was about to protest, so he barged on hurriedly. “As a token of my trust, I would like you, Draco, to carry this for me.” He reached into his pocket and produced the object Draco had seen him remove from his trunk the night before. “This is the first snitch I caught here at Hogwarts. Dumbledore left it to me in his will, with a cryptic note that lets me know it will be useful – possibly even essential – in the final confrontation with Voldemort.”

Harry placed the snitch into Draco’s palm, and curled his slack fingers around it. “I am giving it to you to let you – and everyone else – know that I trust you to be there with me, at the end. I trust you to help me finish Voldemort for good.” He stared into Draco’s eyes, lost in the raw emotion displayed there. “And I trust you to vouch for the whole of Slytherin House.”

“But, Harry!” cried a voice from somewhere in the back of the Great Hall, “he has the Dark Mark!”

The muttering turned dark and ugly, but Harry raised his voice, practically shouting over it to be heard. “Yes. He does.” He turned their joined hands so Draco’s wrist was exposed, the Dark Mark clearly visible. There were several gasps. Harry leaned down and kissed Draco’s Mark, never breaking eye contact. “He has also proved to me that he is trustworthy, and he swore a _Binding Oath_ just now to that effect. I trust him.”

Harry tore his gaze from Draco to look out over the Great Hall once more. “The offer I made to the Slytherins was that I would protect them. Should the unthinkable happen, and Voldemort win, then I – and Draco – will take as much of the blame and punishment on ourselves as we can. And, should Voldemort be defeated, but your parents disown you for joining the Order, Draco and I will welcome you at _our_ house, the former Black House, and help you get back on your feet.” Draco squeezed his hand tightly at the words ‘our house,’ but didn’t interrupt.

A ragged cheer rose from the assembled students, and there was a great muttering and shuffling, as chairs were pushed back, and then _every_ student in each of the other three houses was standing forming a neat queue. McGonagall looked as if she might faint, for a moment, but quickly recovered her composure, gamely accepting the Oaths with the same dignity with which they were given.

The Order Members stared, flabbergasted, at the students who were suddenly swelling their ranks. A few, like Molly Weasley, dabbed at suspiciously bright eyes. Others beamed out over the Great Hall. A few looked disgruntled, but, as it was a Binding Oath, there was nothing they could say.

As the last student stepped away from McGonagall, she made to rise, but an imperious voice stopped her. “Wait.” She sank slowly back into her chair, eyes fastened to Snape’s figure. His robes flared and snapped behind him as he strode forward, sweeping in like a thunderhead. Everyone shrank away from him as he passed, but he ignored them all. His eyes remained steadily fixed on McGonagall’s face. He stopped before her and pushed back his left sleeve, revealing his own Dark Mark.

His words dropped like stones into the now-silent Great Hall. “I, too, bear the Dark Mark, a relic of my youth that I deeply regret. _However_ , I swore my loyalty to the Order – and to Dumbledore – a long time ago. Today, I would like to renew that Oath.” He dropped gracefully to one knee before a clearly stunned McGonagall.

The Great Hall Was eerily silent.

“Minerva,” Snape said, words echoing in the unnatural stillness, “I, too, would swear a binding Oath, pledging my loyalty to the Order – and to _you_ , as I once swore to Albus.” He leaned forward and pressed his lips to the back of her hand. Then, he rose, swiftly, without releasing her hand, and swept her into his arms. When he leaned in and kissed her, the cheers and whistles – and catcalls and applause – were deafening.

Draco snorted, lips pressed close to Harry’s ear. “Leave it to Severus to steal our thunder.”

Harry felt himself grinning – mouth stretched so wide it hurt. “Forget the other Slytherins – if I ever need to arrange something dramatic, I’ll just ask Snape.”

He cut off Draco’s laughter with a searing kiss. It felt so good to be able to admit to their relationship! Not that anyone was paying them any attention, after Snape’s dramatics, but still.

Draco broke the kiss to grin at him, and Harry just _knew_ he was thinking the same thing.


	34. Plan B

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit for prank ideas (wand switcheroo, chocolate frogs, and buttons) to the fabulous Hydromiss on fanfiction.net.

Draco POV

“Mister Potter,” McGonagall called, as they all filed out of the Great Hall after dinner the next day, “A moment, if you please.”

“Sorry…” Harry mumbled to Draco, letting go of his hand reluctantly.

Draco smiled reassuringly at him. “It’s all right. I need to ask Snape something about our Potions project anyway.”

Harry nodded absently, already turning to see what McGonagall wanted. Draco, of course, already knew what she wanted. She was going to ask Harry about organizing the modified D.A. She’d already pulled Blaise aside, he noted, and Draco glanced back to see Ron and Neville joining them. Tonks, Lupin, Bill, and Arthur were standing my McGonagall's side.

Most of the non-Hogwarts Order members had elected to stay in the castle for the time being, since everyone still expected Voldemort to attack imminently. It was odd, Draco reflected, going to classes as usual – since the professors wanted the war to impact their education as little as possible, which was completely ridiculous – with all the extra bodies bumping about in the halls. No one seemed to know quite what to do with them. While there was no doubt they’d be very handy to have around, once the attack actually happened, until then they were mostly just in the way.

Draco cursed under his breath as he ducked under a tapestry to avoid yet another lost-looking Order member. They made secret meetings – like the one Draco was now late for – bloody difficult.

Draco felt another pang of guilt as he slipped out from under the tapestry and hurried silently to the dungeons. He hated lying to Harry. _But_ , he reminded himself, _you_ do _have a project in Potions. And you_ are _going to ask Snape a question about it. You’re just going to do other things while you’re there, too._ _So, it’s not_ really _lying. Exactly_. As usual, his newly-discovered conscience was not appeased. _It’s just my luck to end up with a Gryffindor conscience,_ he thought glumly. _It really doesn’t go so well with my Slytherin soul._

He breathed a sigh of relief when he reached Snape’s office door with no other encounters. He looked around, double-checking that no one was near, and then slipped inside.

“Ah,” Snape drawled, “Mister Malfoy. How good of you to _finally_ join us.”

Hermione patted his arm as he sat down. “Don’t mind him – he’s especially grumpy this evening.”

Luna leaned in close on Draco’s other side and whispered in his ear. “I think he’s got a wrackspurt infestation, but he won’t listen to me. Perhaps you can talk some sense into him.”

Draco frowned. “I – ”

“Of course,” Luna continued dreamily, “if he would just sit still for it, I could probably drive them out by – ”

“ _Miss_ Lovegood,” said Snape haughtily, looming directly above them, “ _please_ refrain from spreading your ridiculous rumors. I have enough to worry about babysitting you children as it is.”

“Oh, but, Sev, you _really_ ought to – ”

Snape massaged his temples. “Just – go back to plotting with Misters Weasley, please. You’re giving me a headache, and I need to speak with Mister Malfoy and Miss Granger.”

“Sev,” Luna admonished, “you wouldn’t get these headaches if – ”

“ _Now_ , Miss Lovegood.”

Luna shrugged and whispered one last, “Wrackspurts,” in Draco’s ear before moving to sit with the twins.

Draco did his best to hide his grin.

Snape glowered at him. “Did Minerva manage to distract Mister Potter?”

Before Draco could speak, McGonagall’s voice came from behind him. “I did. I impressed upon him the importance of the D.A. to our efforts, and handed him over to Arthur and Remus.”

Snape nodded. “Good.” He swept over to his desk, robes snapping in his wake. “Mister Malfoy, we shall have to concoct a suitable alibi for you, should he get it into his Gryffindor head to wonder where you are, or, God forbid, attempt to get you to join his little venture.”

Mcgonagall frowned at him. “Now, now, Severus – ”

Hermione jumped in then. “Why don’t we use the same excuse we’re using for me? An extra-credit Potions project. We could even say we’re partners.”

“And Mister Potter would accept this?” Snape asked curiously.

“It’s not Harry I’m worried about,” Draco said, “It’s Ron. Will he be OK with us working together?”

“What Ron doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

“And if he finds out? He’s not particularly happy with me, right now.”

Hermione glared fiercely. “Then he’ll find out very quickly that I don’t tolerate prejudice against _any_ of my friends.”

Everyone stared at her.

“So, we’re, uh, friends, now?” Draco asked weakly.

Hermione turned her glare on him. “Yes,” she said primly, “we are.”

“Well,” drawled Snape, “now that _that’s_ sorted, I would like to get on with actual work sometime this century.”

“Right.” Draco pulled out his quill and the scroll he’d been jotting notes on earlier. He muttered the decryption spell, and smiled as the ink of the exceedingly boring essay on the cure for boils ran and shifted, and the encrypted notes formed on the page. That spell had always been his favorite.

Hermione gasped next to him. “Oh, Draco, that was brilliant!” She hesitated, obviously debating with herself, then blurted, “Will you teach me?”

It was Draco’s turn to hesitate. It was a family secret, Father had said. Then he remembered Father’s face, as he considered keeping Harry for himself, and dismissed Draco to the ranks of failures the Dark Lord would soon break, and nodded. “Yeah. Here – like this.” He slowly repeated the wand movement, and then the muttered words slightly louder, so only she could hear. Hermione immediately turned to practice it, and of course she had it down in only a few tries. Draco swallowed his jealousy. She was on his side now – he should be grateful she caught on so quickly.

Snape cleared his throat. “I believe we may be getting slightly off-topic…”

Hermione blushed. “Er, right.”

Snape nodded. “Now, as far as Minerva and I can tell, the wards we created last time are holding. Draco?”

“No dreams. At least, none he’s talked about. He could be hiding it, though.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Hermione muttered.

“Since we can’t afford to let something slip to the Dark Lord,” Snape said, “we’ll have to assume that he can still see into Harry’s mind, if only a little. This means that nothing we talk about in here can make its way back to Harry’s ears.”

“Which means,” McGonagall added, “we have to keep all of our plans absolutely secret.”

She waited for everyone to nod their assent. “So – yes, Miss Lovegood?”

Luna lowered her hand. “What if we need the assistance of other students to pull off our plan?”

McGonagall frowned. “What do you have in mind?”

“Well,” Luna said, “we’re going to use chocolate frogs, but we’ll need the first- and second-years to help.”

“… _chocolate frogs_?” said Snape, at the same time as McGonagall said, “First- and second-years?” Draco couldn’t decide which of them sounded more horrified.

Luna wasn’t phased. “Oh, yes. _Modified_ chocolate frogs. We’ll need their help in smuggling them into the battle, you see. Fred and George have invented this clever little device that shrinks them and puts them in stasis. So each student could be carrying, oh, fifty frogs or so. Then, when we give the signal, they each activate their device and flood the field with the modified chocolate frogs. Which, besides being much harder to catch than their predecessors, will all target Voldemort and the Death Eaters, and swarm them. It will be a marvelous distraction, and will allow us to implement our other plan.”

“I presume it was Misters Weasley who modified the chocolate frogs?” McGonagall said weakly.

“Oh, yes,” said Luna. “They’re quite clever, you know.”

McGonagall didn’t seem to have an answer for that, so Draco stepped in. “How will you keep them from swarming the people on _our_ side?”

Fred spoke up, then. “We thought we’d use those buttons you were helping us with. It’d be pretty easy to add a chocolate-frog repellant to them, and we were going to have everyone wear them into battle, anyway.”

“And how, exactly, do you plan to get everyone to wear a button to the battle?” Hermione asked curiously. “I doubt Voldemort is going to announce it ahead of time so we can come prepared.”

“Well, we’d need your help with that, Professor,” said George, turning to McGonagall. “Everyone would have to wear the buttons at all times. You could say it was for building morale, or something.”

Draco found himself nodding thoughtfully. Mad as it was, it just might work. Then he remembered Luna’s words. “What are they to distract everyone _from_?” he asked.

This time it was Ginny who answered, smiling dangerously. “That’s where I come in. Though, I will need you to swipe Harry’s invisibility cloak for me,” she added, turning to Draco.

He gaped at her. “Why?”

“So I can steal Voldemort’s wand, of course,” she said, studying her nails.

“I’m sorry, what?” Hermione sounded shocked. Draco didn’t really blame her.

“We call it ‘Operation Wand Switcheroo,’” Fred said.

“Yeah,” added George. He rummaged through the bag at his feet, finally pulling out a long, thin bundle. “Ah, there it is.” He unrolled it with a flourish, displaying a wand that, Draco had to admit, looked exactly like Voldemort’s own. “Watch,” he said, winking at them.

He flourished the wand. “Avada Kedavra!” Everyone flinched away from the expected flash of green light, but it never came. Instead, there was a small _pop_ and the end flipped open. A scroll unfurled slowly, like a banner. Written on it, in ink the color of the killing curse, which Draco thought a very nice touch, were the words: _Moldy Voldy's Getting Old-y_.

Snape was the first to find his voice. “Well,” he said. “That’s certainly… something.”

“But _how_ exactly do you intend to swap them?” McGonagall’s voice rang shrilly in the silent classroom.

Ginny looked up to meet her gaze. Her eyes were flinty. “I’ll use Harry’s invisibility cloak. While Voldemort is distracted with the frogs, I’ll sneak up behind him and swap out his wand.”

“But…” Snape trailed off uncertainly.

“She’s the best man for the job,” Fred said, smiling at his sister.

“Yeah,” said George, “She’s an excellent pickpocket, is our Gin.”

McGonagall frowned. “I still don’t think I can condone such risky – ”

She stopped abruptly as Ginny held out her wand. “Missing something?”

McGonagall patted her wand pocket, then stared at the girl standing before her. “How?”

Ginny flashed her a devious grin. “Like my brother said, I’m an _excellent_ pickpocket.”

"So," Luna's words echoed in the silence. "The first-years?"

McGonagall closed her eyes, looking pained. "Do what you must."

Snape raised an eyebrow. “Very well. I suppose that’s enough plotting for one night. Off with you, now.” He turned to McGonagall. “Fancy a drink, Minerva?”

The rest of them practically rushed from the room. Draco felt something catch his sleeve as he was about to slip through the door. He turned back to find Ginny at his elbow. “Get me Harry’s cloak, yeah?”

He sighed. “Meet me after breakfast, tomorrow.”

She nodded, then was gone, a swirl of bright red hair that gleamed occasionally in patches of torchlight, flitting from shadow to shadow – quite possibly the key to defeating the Darkest Wizard of their time.

Draco shook his head. “Merlin, help us all.”


	35. My Girlfriend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Starting with this chapter, THIS STORY WILL UPDATE DAILY. There will be 42 chapters total.

Harry POV

Harry looked out over the assembled "troops" and groaned. He sincerely hoped Voldemort wasn't watching, or he would know what a joke his opposition really was. He snorted. Or maybe Voldemort _should_ be watching. Maybe he'd laugh so hard he fell over and...impaled himself on his wand. Or something. Because, realistically, that was the only way they were going to defeat him.

"No, no. Like this." Harry separated a pair of fourth-years – by the simple expedient of wading in between them and shoving them apart, rather more brusquely than was strictly warranted – and then slashed his wand down between them, spitting the words to the spell they'd been trying (and failing) to master.

"Uh, mate?" Ron put a tentative hand on his arm. "Maybe you should take a break. You look a bit... intense."

Harry rubbed his eyes, grimacing. "That's one way of putting it." He sighed and turned to the terrified fourth-years. "My apologies. I'm not feeling well - think I'll go sit down."

"Good idea, mate." Ron took hold of one of the fourth-years' arms. "Like this," he said gently, walking them through the motions and words of the spell. Harry saw the way they looked up at Ron in awe, the way they slanted frightened glances at him as he walked away. He felt his back stiffen, and he rubbed his eyes again.

He didn't slow when he reached the chairs he'd vaguely indicated. He cast a quick look around, to be sure he wouldn't be missed, and then slipped out the door. He turned and rested his forehead on the cool stone of the castle, willing the throbbing to go away. It was getting worse. His scar burned and throbbed and tingled constantly, now, and it was driving him to snap more and more quickly. He couldn't go on like this, but... he didn't want to tell anyone. Not McGonagall or Hermione, with their pitiless questions, certainly not Snape, with his cold disinterest. He and Ron weren't on the best terms just now, and Draco...

He drew his head back and let it drop forward again to thunk against the stone. It made him feel marginally better, so he did it again. Thunk. Thunk. It didn't take away the pain... but it gave him a new pain to worry about, made the burning of his scar fade into the background.

_Draco_. Harry hadn't seen Draco at all, these past several days. Since school started. Draco was involved in some Potions project, with Hermione and Snape, that took most of his time. And Harry was always busy - there were classes, and the D.A., and all of the Order members, stopping him constantly to talk to him, ask him questions. He just wanted to scream at them. _I. Don't. Know. When!_ He imagined doing it, when such-and-such Order member came to shake his hand, ask how he was doing, and say, by the way, Harry, do you happen to know when the Dark Lord is going to attack... And instead of politely murmuring that no, no he didn't know, he would clench his fists, like he always wanted to now, and scream. As loud as he could. So loud Voldemort himself would be able to hear it, laugh with the knowledge that _Harry Potter didn't know._

And, more and more, _Harry Potter didn't_ care.

The door opened, then, and Professor Lupin stuck his head out. "You all right, there, Harry?"

Harry tried to summon a smile, but suspected that it fell rather short of the mark. "Actually no, not really, Professor. I... I think I might need to lie down. I've not been sleeping well."

Professor Lupin looked him over critically. "I think you're right, Harry. We can't have you falling asleep when the Dark Lord attacks, now can we?"

Harry knew his answering smile really couldn't be called a smile at all. Professor Lupin sighed. "Go on, Harry. Go get some rest. I'll finish up in here."

"Thanks, Professor." Harry didn't even bother trying for a smile this time. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Ron caught up to him on the way to the Gryffindor common room. "Harry - Harry, mate, wait up!"

Harry sighed. "Ron..."

Ron didn't seem to notice his exhaustion. "I've been thinking, about what you told me the other day."

"Yeah?"

"Are you sure you're gay?" Ron blurted. "I mean, just because it didn't work out with Cho, you and Ginny were good together, weren't you? You could always try again, with her, and..."

Harry took a deep breath and held it for a moment. "Ron. Get this through your head. Ginny. And. I. Are. Over. OVER. We both agreed that it wasn't working."

"Yeah, but, I mean, there are other girls, Harry, and – "

Harry finally lost his last shred of patience. "RON!" He shouted, as soon as they'd entered the common room. "I. AM. GAY."

Ron stared at him in shock. "But... But... Does it have to be Malfoy?" he wailed. "I mean, Malfoy? Mate, are you out of your mind?"

Harry saw Draco, then. He'd jumped from his chair when Harry entered the room, but now stood awkwardly beside it, scowling at the ground and scuffing his toes, carefully not looking at Harry's friends. Harry hoped he wouldn't let them – Ron, especially – get to him. Draco's Malfoy attitude was strangely absent, lately, and he looked rather lost. Harry inched closer to him, aching to defend him, but not wanting to start a row. He wasn't so secure in this new... thing between them that he wanted to risk Draco deciding it would be easier for Harry if he left.

Harry rolled his eyes and huffed out an annoyed breath, looking at the ceiling as if he hoped to find patience there. He and Ron had rehashed this argument at least a dozen times, and he sincerely hoped this would be the last. If he could just figure out what to say... He closed his eyes for a moment, gathering his thoughts. When he was fairly sure that he wouldn't snap, he opened his mouth. "Ron – "

The door to the common room slammed open, and Ginny stormed in. Harry stared at her, open-mouthed, as she marched up to her brother and slapped him across the face. "Ron! Honestly! Harry is your friend! You have no right to say things like that! Just wait 'til I tell Mum!"

Ron winced and flushed until his face was the same shade as his hair. "Uh, Ginny, what are you talking about?"

She huffed in annoyance. "Honestly. Think real hard, Ron. Lunchtime? Insults? Bigoted slurs? Can you remember that far back with that puny brain of yours?"

He scowled. "Gin – "

Ginny ignored him, turning to Harry. "Hullo Harry. Sorry about my idiot brother. He got less than his allotted share of brains, somehow. Malfoy." She smiled at them. Her smile grew wider as Draco tensed and Harry shifted involuntarily in front of him. "You know, Harry," she said thoughtfully, "I ought to thank you."

Harry gulped. Ginny reminded him of Molly just now – hands on her hips, flaming hair tossed over her shoulders, eyes blazing. She was formidable – and, his brain helpfully supplied, not attractive at all. Well, he supposed she was, in an academic sense. He could understand why _others_ might be attracted to her. But he'd never been, really – and he was even less so now. _Draco_ , on the other hand... He felt his lips quirk up in a soft smile as he glanced over his shoulder to see Draco scuffing his shoe on the floor. He looked so... vulnerable. Harry ached to protect him, to wipe the nervous grimace off his face. He looked _so_ much better when he smiled.

Ginny waved her hand in front of his face, jarring him back to the present. "Earth to Harry," she teased.

He shifted guiltily. "Sorry, Gin."

She grinned. "Oh, don't worry about that, Harry." She waved her arm vaguely between him and Draco. "I'm happy for you, really. As I was saying, I ought to thank you for making me realize a few things. And... well, for making this easier."

She marched over to the door and opened it, then stuck out her arm and dragged in a reluctant –

"Pansy?" Draco asked, sounding shocked.

Pansy winced. Ginny gave her hand a quick squeeze and then turned back to the others. "Harry, Hermione, Malfoy, Idiot brother, allow me to introduce my girlfriend, Pansy." She tugged at Pansy's arm and pulled her into an embrace. Pansy stiffened, obviously expecting a hex from behind, but relaxed again when none came. Then Ginny kissed her.

Ron made a high-pitched keening sound, rather like a teakettle, and then fell over in a dead faint. Hermione squeaked, startled, and rushed to tend him. Ginny and Pansy continued to snog, cheerfully ignoring everyone.

Harry turned to Draco. "Well, he said thoughtfully. That was interesting." Draco just stared at him. Harry grinned. Laughter bubbled up inside of him, replacing the frustration and anger, and suddenly he needed desperately to be outside, to feel the wind rushing past, stirring his hair. "Come on. Let's get out of here while they're all distracted." He grabbed Draco's arm and tugged insistently.

Draco cleared his throat. "Whrwl," he said. He frowned. "Blrggh." Harry kissed him before he could say anything else. He pulled away after a few seconds, laughing.

"Come _on_." This time, Draco gave in to the inevitable, and followed Harry out of the room. He looked back at the common room in shock, and then shook his head.

"Your friends are all _nutters_ ," he announced solemnly. Harry grinned at him.

"Yes. Well, really, did you expect anything else?" He handed Draco his broom, accioed while Draco was hesitating, and saluted him with his own. "Come on. Let's go flying."

 


	36. Constant Vigilance!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Credit once again to Hydromiss for the inspiration for Voldy's Snape-bashing evil monologue**

When the attack finally came, it took everyone by surprise. Even Mad Eye Moody, who’d taken to jumping out from behind tapestries with a shout of “Constant Vigilance!” until McGonagall told him to stop terrifying first-years, was caught unawares.

It was Thursday night, a few weeks into term, and the Great Hall was eerily silent. Tempers had been short all week, as students, teachers, and Order members alike were exhausted from too many days of nervous anticipation.

When the double-doors at the front of the Great Hall snicked open, halfway through dinner, no one bothered to look up. There were so many people in the castle, now, even the Marauder’s Map occasionally lost track of a few.

And if those few were Harry and Draco, more often than not, well, they were the ones with the map, anyway, so it hardly mattered.

* * *

Harry POV

Harry and Draco, headed late to the Great Hall after slipping out that afternoon for some much-needed alone time, nearly ran into the pack of Death Eaters that milled around the entrance to the Great Hall.

They hurried back around the corner and turned to stare at one another, wide-eyed, all thoughts of dinner forgotten. Each boy reached into his back pocket and activated the coin that lay there.

“Well,” Draco said breathlessly, “guess this is it.”

Harry leaned in, pulling his lover in for a fierce kiss. “Be careful!” he whispered, pulling away to head for the imminent battle.

Draco tugged him back. “You, too,” he whispered, breath hot against Harry’s lips.

Harry laced his fingers through Draco’s. “Together, then?”

Draco nodded. “Together.”

And, together, they turned and waded into the mass of Death Eaters, who were just now spilling through the doors and into the Great Hall. The hexes and curses were flying thick and fast, and the two boys took no time in adding their own to the mix.

The Death Eaters seemed surprised to meet with such resistance. Harry smiled grimly, fingering the heated metal in his pocket and hoping he’d bought them some time by activating the coins Hermione had charmed to allow the D.A. members to alert one another to danger. He didn’t know that Hermione had given another set to Draco, for those students involved in the secret Plan B. Together, they’d managed to alert most of the school just as the Death Eaters poured into the Great Hall, giving their friends an extra few seconds to react and ruining Voldemort’s carefully planned surprise.

Harry waded through the battle, keeping one eye on Draco as he picked off Death Eaters with swiftly cast hexes. Then he saw the first flash of familiar green light, and switched without thinking about it from hexes designed to maim and incapacitate, to curses designed to kill. A quick glance at Draco showed him doing the same.

The Great Hall was a churning, writhing mass of bodies, now, lit by flares of red and yellow and purple, with occasional bursts of sickly green. The bodies on the floor began to pile up, making it difficult to keep his footing.

Harry pushed on, searching frantically for Voldemort. He needed to end this, as quickly as possible, to keep as many of his friends as he could from dropping before the Death Eaters’ wands.

He saw them fall, friends and classmates, but he couldn’t take the time to check to see if they were still alive. All he could do was continue blindly firing curses, all the while keeping up a constant chant in his head, as if by repeating it enough times, he could will it to come true.

_Not Draco. Not Draco. Not Draco. Not Draco. Not Draco…_

A hush swept through the Great Hall, and Harry looked up at the dais where the Professors' table was, to see McGonagall forced to her knees, Voldemort's wand pressed cruelly against her throat.

“Call off your brats, Minerva,” he hissed, “if you want to see another sunrise as headmistress.”

“Hogwarts… is more… than its… headmistress,” she choked out, glaring up at him. “I would… have expected you… to know that… Tom.”

“Yes, well,” he kicked her in the side, a casual movement, but Harry could hear her bones cracking under Voldemort’s boot halfway across the Hall.

Snape growled and lunged for Voldemort, but Voldemort flicked his wand and sent Snape skidding across the floor.

“Well, well, Severus.” Voldemort shook his head, aiming another vicious kick at McGonagall’s ribs. “I’d heard that you'd betrayed me for this hag, but I must confess that I didn’t expect the rumors to be true! My, my. Setting your sights a bit lower, are you, now that your precious Lily’s been gone these last years? What is it, ten years, now?”

Snape’s voice was impassive. “Fifteen, actually.”

“Fifteen years.” Voldemort shook his head in mock pity. “Fifteen years to live with the knowledge that you killed your precious Lily. That _you_ are the one responsible for her death that night. And then, to be forced to teach her son, the famous Boy-Who-Lived… Oh, how that must have rankled. Tell me, Severus, did you _enjoy_ hurting the boy, during your failed Occlumency lessons?”

Snape started, and Voldemort must have seen it, for his voice, when he continued, was even more mocking. “Oh, yes, I know about those. Did it never occur to you to wonder, Severus, that there might be a reason young Mister Potter was so decidedly hopeless at Occlumency?”

Snape looked like he might be sick, and Harry wasn’t sure if that was because of the things Voldemort was saying, or because of the way Voldemort was systematically breaking his and McGonagall’s bones as he talked.

“Did you know,” Voldemort said, “how much he hates you, Severus? How much pain you caused him, spearing into his mind, again and again, insisting he raise his shields to keep you out? He couldn’t, you see. It wasn’t his fault – the first thing I did, when I realized what I could do, with that Horcrux, was to make raising those shields so painful it was worse than letting your callous attacks in.” He snorted. “I got so _annoyed_ with you, by the end. I’d be sleeping peacefully, or entertaining myself with a few muggles, and then suddenly, all I would see was _you_. Your sneer. Your lip, curled in disgust. Your ruthless persistence, even when you knew how much you hurt him.”

“You see, Severus,” continued Voldemort cheerfully, as he popped the bones in McGonagall’s left hand, one by one, “I find that I quite despise you, now. I even considered allowing your lessons to succeed, if only to get your ugly face out of my head. But, you see, I couldn’t do that. For, if you had succeeded at teaching Mister Potter to ward his mind, I would have had a much more difficult time keeping tabs on that pesky Order of yours. And I would have had to either spend the time and effort on placing spies within your ranks, or simply guessed at your plans. Since neither of those options was particularly appealing, I needed my link with Mister Potter’s mind.”

He grinned, a cold, mirthless grin. “It was simple, really, once I figured out how to activate my link with him. The link your dear Lily put in place, when she gave her life to save her son’s. Of course, she had no way of knowing that that act would cause me to inadvertently make Harry Potter my last Horcrux, nor that it would link his mind inextricably to mine.”

The Great Hall was suddenly filled with gasps of surprise and horror, as Order members and Death Eaters alike learned of the unexpected way the Chosen One was linked to the Dark Lord.

Harry closed his eyes, fervently wishing he’d gone to McGonagall about his scar from the beginning. Like Draco had wanted. It could have saved so many lives…

Harry’s eyes snapped open when Voldemort called his name.

“Harry,” Voldemort repeated.

Harry looked up, green eyes meeting cold black ones. “Yeah?”

“You don’t have to die here, you know.” Voldemort smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You and I could do great things, Harry. You don’t need these pathetic fools.”

Harry closed his eyes again. “I’m sorry, Mum,” he whispered. “I’m sorry your sacrifice didn’t change anything. I’m sorry I couldn’t be the hero they all need me to be.”

He opened his eyes, looked back into Voldemort’s, saw the spark of excitement in them, and took a vicious pleasure in squashing it, in getting in one last parting shot. “No,” he said, slowly, “no, I don’t think we could.”

He sought out Draco again, intending to mouth “I’m sorry,” or maybe even “I love you,” which he’d never said, not properly, anyway.

Instead, he saw Lucius Malfoy pointing his wand at his son’s back, familiar green light gathering on its tip.

Harry’s vague plans of thwarting Voldemort fled his mind, and he threw himself in front of Draco, straight into a lightning bolt of lurid green.

He died with Draco’s name on his lips.


	37. I Have No Son

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***I just wanted to remind you guys that this fic will have a Happy Ending. So don't kill me before we get there ;-)***

_Harry’s vague plans of thwarting Voldemort fled his mind, and he threw himself in front of Draco, straight into a lightning bolt of lurid green._

_He died with Draco’s name on his lips._

* * *

Draco POV

There was absolute silence for a handful of breaths, and then the Great Hall exploded into shouts and confusion. Draco ignored all of it, his entire being focused intensely on the Boy-Who-Lived-No-More. On the Stupid-Git-Who-Died-For-Draco. On the Boy-He-Loved. Draco knew his father would try again, but he didn’t care. He thought he might even welcome it – welcome the killing curse, if it meant the chance to be with Harry again.

Then, suddenly, Hermione was at his side, firing off hexes and protecting Draco’s back. “God dammit, Draco!” she shouted, “You can’t give up _now!_ Are you really going to throw away the life he just died to give you?”

Draco didn’t know what he intended to reply, but whatever he might have said was lost in the deafening shout of one of the Weasley twins. _Whichever one it is, he must have cast a sonorous on himself,_ Draco thought fuzzily. _Not even the Weasley twins are_ that _loud._

“Luna! Now!”

As the shout reverberated around the Great Hall, bouncing and echoing and deafening everyone without the forethought to clap their hands over their ears, Luna blew a blast on some demented whistle, whose shrill voice couldn’t be kept out even with a silencing charm. Suddenly, the room was swarming with hundreds upon thousands of chocolate frogs.

There were startled screams and shouts, and more than one hysterical laugh, abruptly and mysteriously silenced. Draco glanced at Voldemort, trapped at the center of his own private chocolate hurricane, and felt the corners of his mouth twitch.

Pansy and Luna picked their way over to where he knelt beside Harry’s body, ignoring the chaos surrounding them.

“Well,” Luna said cheerfully, ignoring the blood that streaked her face and matted her hair, “that was surprisingly effective.”

“What in Salazar’s name is the meaning of this?” Voldemort roared. He hissed something in parsletongue, and all the chocolate frogs burst at once, showering everyone in the Great Hall in melted chocolate.

Luna’s finger shot out and wiped a stripe down Hermione’s nose. She stuck it in her mouth, considering. “Mmmm. Dark chocolate. My favorite.”

Draco looked up at the glowering, candy-coated Dark Chocolate Lord, and felt himself convulse with hysterical laughter that bubbled up from somewhere deep inside and would not be contained.

Voldemort’s eyes, which had been angrily sweeping across the room, fastened on Draco. “YOU!” he spat. “ _You_ did this. You little blood-traitor.”

Draco gazed impassively at him, letting the slur slide off him like water. “Yes,” he said. “I did.” He spoke quietly, but in the heavy silence, broken only by occasional drips of chocolate hitting the floor, his words carried easily to every listening ear. He stood up, a languid unfolding of his limbs that he knew was graceful and elegant.

Voldemort seethed. “I should have gotten rid of you when I had the chance. You were always sniveling around the edges of your father’s Manor, whining and cringing and refusing to act as a Death Eater should. I let your father convince me to give you chance after chance, and this is how you repay me?” Voldemort sneered. “Tell me, Lucius. Do you object to me killing your son _now_?”

All eyes turned to Lucius Malfoy, poised and elegant even under a layer of chocolate, trademark sneer painted on his face. “No, my Lord,” he said softly. “I have no son.” He never once met Draco’s eyes.

“Excellent.” Voldemort grinned at Draco. “Now, how should I take care of you, you miserable worm? Ah. I know.” He leveled his wand at Draco’s heart. Draco didn’t flinch. “Brave, are we? Well. Let’s see if you face Death with the same aplomb.” Through the green glow of the killing curse, out of the corner of his eye, Draco saw Hermione and Luna reaching toward him.

He kept his eyes open, not wanting to grant Voldemort even that small victory, and so he was one of the first to see it happen.

Voldemort slashed his wand toward Draco, shouted “Avada Kedavra!” But instead of the green glow turning into a burst of green light that would cleave his soul from his body, Draco saw the glow wink out, and a scroll slowly unfurl from the end of the wand.

A scroll that read, in letters the color of the killing curse’s light, 'Moldy Voldy’s getting Old-y'

 _Well, I’ll be damned,_ he thought, amazed, _she did it._

The Great Hall was deathly silent as everyone read the banner, those whose eyes were still closed, or who had turned away, swiftly nudged and prodded by their friends until they turned back.

And Draco laughed. He let the waves of manic, slightly-unhinged laughter roll through him, buffet him, bear him away.

“Draco?” Ginny appeared, suddenly, at his side, Voldemort’s wand in her hand. She looked at him worriedly, but he couldn’t stop laughing long enough to reassure her that he was all right.

Ginny bit her lip, then turned to Hermione,Luna, and Pansy. “On three?”

The other girls nodded grimly and raised their wands. And then, as Draco watched, four identical sickly-green bursts of light shot past him, two on either side, and merged as they homed in on the astonished, chocolate covered man on the stage. Voldemort began to raise the wand in his hand, staring blankly out over the room, then his shoulders slumped, and he let it fall.

He didn’t even try to fight it, that quadruple killing curse. He simply watched it come. No one moved as the four spells hit him simultaneously, bathing the room in a burst of green light so bright, they all had to close their eyes. When they opened them again, Voldemort’s body lay crumpled, unmoving on the dais.

A terrible wail went up, as the remaining Death Eaters mourned the death of their lord. _For good, this time_ , Draco realized. Harry – the final Horcrux – had died, and with him, Voldemort’s chances of resurrection. He thought he should feel more, now that the threat hanging over him since he’d been born was gone for good. Thought he should feel something, anything. But he stood, staring at the body on the stage. Trying not to think about the body by his feet.

It hit him, then. That Harry was gone – never to return. That he, Draco, would have to spend the rest of his life without Harry. That he wasn’t sure he could do that. He wondered, idly, what would happen to his parents, now. What they would do. Then he snorted. He knew the first thing they would do. They would come after him, and his friends, for having the audacity to stand up to their Dark Lord. For having the audacity to win.

He stared into the bleak, empty, uncertain future that stretched ahead of him, and he didn’t think he could stand it. He let himself slump, boneless, against Harry’s body, let the wave of grief crash over him. He begged oblivion to take him away.

He heard his name shouted, as if from a great distance, and slowly blinked open one eye. Hermione was calling him frantically as she battled with a Death Eater.

“Draco! Draco, listen to me! You can’t give up yet! We’re not done, here. Draco!”

He groggily tried to stand, but his limbs felt like they were made of lead, or possibly molasses. He couldn’t seem to figure out how to make them work. Then he saw his father, glaring down at him, his mother beside him. Their faces were cold, hard, and slightly crazed. Their wands were pointed at his heart.

Draco stared up at them, uncomprehending. His mother and father were pointing their wands at him, faces contorted with hate and grief. He couldn’t make the pieces fit.

Draco thought of his wand, lying beside him. He should probably pick it up. Yes. That might be a good idea. Then he should probably do something with it. He wasn’t sure what, but there were two wands pointing at him, and his parents didn’t look like they wanted to help.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake!”

Twin bursts of green light shot over Draco’s head, hitting his parents squarely in their chests.

 _Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy_ , Draco’s brain helpfully supplied. _Mother and Father. Servants to the Dark Lord. Dead._

They crumpled, one on either side of him. Lucius’ pale hair splayed over Draco’s wrist. Over his Dark Mark. Draco wondered if he should do something about it.

Mother and Father. Voldemort. _Harry_.

Draco closed his eyes.

 


	38. The Heart's Blood Stone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just got home from the ER with the little (apparently he has croup), where the girl in the next bed was 14, very drunk, and rather uncooperative. She and the girl she was brought in with kept launching themselves at one another violently and screaming "I LOVE YOU!" It was intense. Aaaanyway. The point is, it's technically tomorrow already, so... here ya go.

Draco POV

Draco floated in darkness.

 _Am I dead?_ he wondered. He didn’t know. There was only nothing. Darkness.

He tried to move, to speak, but found he had far too little energy. He stopped trying. Floated through nothing. Darkness.

He felt something nagging at him. Something he had yet to do. But when he tried to reach for the memory, it skittered away from him. He tried again, and was rewarded with a burst of agonizing pain that lanced through him, reducing him once again to nothing. Darkness.

He didn’t try again.

He floated.

Sometime later – hours? Seconds? Years? Time was meaningless in that dark place – something tugged at him.

He resisted, remembering the searing pain, but the tug was insistent.

Reluctantly, he reached for it.

And then, suddenly, the nothingness receded, light came flooding back, and sound, and movement, and everything was rushing past and it was just too much! Draco clapped his hands over his ears and screamed, trying to drown out the noise. He shut his eyes, as tightly as he could, but it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. He opened his eyes, saw Harry’s lifeless face, and screamed again.

The nothingness reared up to claim him once more, but Hermione was too quick for it. Her wand waved in front of Draco’s eyes, her lips formed words that his shattered brain couldn’t make sense of. But the darkness receded.

Draco found his voice.

“’Mione?” he croaked. “What happened?”

To his surprise, she tackled him in a crushing embrace. “Oh, Draco, thank God! I was so worried – you just collapsed – oh, Draco, I didn’t know what to do!”

Draco patted her back awkwardly.

Ginny, predictably, slapped him. “Draco!” she screeched, “what were you thinking? You can’t give up – you have to save Harry!”

Draco stared at her, looked down at Harry’s body, then quickly back at Ginny. “He’s dead, Gin.”

“Draco!” Hermione shouted, in his ear since she was still clinging to him. “Draco! The snitch! The one Dumbledore left to Harry! Oh, please tell me you have it!”

Draco fumbled in his pocket, pulled out the snitch. He could feel its wings beating feebly against his fingers; whatever stasis charm Dumbledore had put on it had broken.

Draco opened his hand, gazed down at the small golden ball. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do next.

Acting on a sudden impulse, a half-remembered remark, he reached out and gently touched the snitch to Harry’s lips.

As Harry had said, a delicate script appeared, circling the snitch.

“I open at the close.” Hermione wrinkled her nose. “It doesn’t make any more sense now than it did when Harry first showed it to me.”

Draco ignored her. He had the barest inkling of an idea, and he waited, as patiently as he could, hardly daring to breathe as the idea drifted closer, took form. As if in a dream, he raised the snitch to his own lips, pressed it to them, the way he’d done to Harry’s.

Hermione fell silent; he could feel everyone in the room holding their breath, leaning in.

And then the snitch connected with his lips, and a blinding light flashed out from inside it, as cracks spread along the surface. The cracks widened, joined, fractured the snitch into a hundred pieces. A thousand. Ten thousand. Then the light, which now seemed to be holding the sphere together, winked out. The pieces fell, scattered into dust. A ring tumbled out onto Draco’s palm.

Hermione drew in a sharp breath. “But… But, that’s the resurrection stone! We destroyed it! At least, Dumbledore said we did…”

And Draco abruptly understood. A Horcrux. But if all the Horcruxes _weren’t_ really gone… He glanced up at the dais, where Voldemort’s body lay crumpled.

And then a voice by his ear chuckled. A familiar voice. The voice of a dead man. Dumbledore.

“Not to worry, my dear,” it said, far too cheerfully, in Draco’s opinion, for someone who was supposed to be dead. “We _did_ destroy the Horcrux in Godric’s ring.”

Hermione seemed unphased to hear the former Headmaster’s voice. “But, destroying the other Horcruxes always destroyed their containers.”

“Oh, it destroyed this one, too,” Dumbledore said. “Or, it will, very soon. I placed a stasis spell on it. A stasis spell which young Mister Malfoy has just broken. Marvellous work, dear boy,” he added, presumably to Draco, “but, now you’d best hurry. That ring won’t hold together much longer, and there’s someone here who wants to talk to you.”

Draco looked up hopefully. “Harry?”

“No, I’m afraid not.” Dumbledore chuckled at Draco’s crestfallen look. “Harry’s not here yet, my boy, and hopefully won’t be for some time yet, if you play your cards right. Now, congratulations to you all again for your clever victory.”

Dumbledore’s voice faded away, to be replaced by one unfamiliar to Draco. He glanced around, but none of the others crowded around him seemed to recognize it, either.

“Draco!”it said urgently, “ Draco! Can you hear me?”

“Er, yes? Who are you?”

“Cygnus Black, but, we really don’t have time for introductions just now. Draco! Does Harry have some sort of stone or amulet on him?”

Draco frowned, trying to think. “I don’t know.”

“Well, don’t just stand there gawping! Dig through his pockets, man! I can sense something, but I need to get closer to be sure…”

Draco quickly turned out Harry’s pockets. There was plenty of debris, but nothing that looked like a stone or amulet. Finally, as he dumped out the last pocket, Cygnus shouted “Wait! It’s in there – I can feel it!”

Draco dug through the lint and candy wrappers, finally unearthing what looked like a worry stone, small and unassuming.

“Is this it?” he held it up, dubious.

“Yes! Yes! Quick – put the ring next to the stone!”

“What is it?” asked Hermione, as Draco scrambled to comply.

The instant the stone and the ring were both in Draco’s hand, he knew. Cygnus’ memories of the stone flooded his mind, merging with the passages from the Black Library that he’d been searching for information on the wards, passages that he’d not even known he’d memorized.

A soft chuckle brushed through his mind. “Well, I might have helped with that, a little. But you’ve a fantastic memory – most of it was already there. Now, go bring your lover back, and do the Black name proud. Good luck to you, Draco!”

With a final, affectionate brush, the other mind slipped away. The ring crumbled to dust in Draco’s hand. But he still had the stone. And now he knew what he had to do.

“Draco?” Hermione asked nervously, when he opened his eyes. “What _is_ that?” She pointed to the stone lying innocently on his palm.

“The Heart’s Blood Stone,” he answered absently.

Hermione drew in a startled breath. “But that’s – ”

Draco nodded. “A life for a life, freely given,” he quoted, seeing the ancient grimoire he’d read those words in, in his mind’s eye. Reviewing what he had to do.

“Draco…”

He looked up at her, letting his pain show. “I have to, ‘Mione. I can’t live without him.” He smiled faintly. “Watch my back, yeah? Don’t let anyone near, ‘til it’s done.”

She bit her lip, but nodded resolutely. Luna, Pansy, and Ginny echoed her nod.

“Good luck,” added Ginny, clapping him on the back.

Then the four girls moved back, formed a protective ring around Draco. He smiled at each in turn, letting his eyes say what his words couldn’t. “Thanks.”

He clutched the Heart’s Blood Stone tightly in one fist, whispering a spell to slice open his wrist. He coated the stone in his blood, then dipped his finger into the sticky liquid, dabbed it on Harry’s chest, over his heart. On his own. He sliced open Harry’s wrist to match, pressed the cuts together, and bent to capture Harry’s lips with his own.

 _I love you,_ he thought fiercely, _and I swore to bring you back alive. I will not let you be dead, do you hear me, Harry Potter? I. Will. Not. Let. You. Be. Dead._

With the final words, everything faded to white.


	39. Everyone Deserves A Second Chance

Draco POV

Draco floated through misty whiteness. There was no substance, no variation of color. Just eternal, relentless white mist.

Then the mist cleared, and Draco found himself standing on the platform at King’s Cross Station. It looked different, without the bulk of the Hogwart’s Express. Without the students and their families milling around. The piles of luggage, the din of hooting owls, and yowling cats, and teary goodbyes, the hiss and whistle of the train, and the exuberant shouts of children.

It was white. Empty. Soulless.

And Draco was alone.

“Not _entirely_ alone, my boy.”

Draco turned, and there was Dumbledore, standing on the platform beside Draco, where, Draco was almost certain, he’d not been standing just a moment ago.

“You’re right,” said Dumbledore.

Draco waited.

“Oh, dear.” Dumbledore fumbled in his robe pockets. “I seem to have forgotten how these ‘conversation’ things work. Now. Let me see…” He squinted at Draco, frowning ferociously.

“Headmaster – ”

“Now, now. Don’t interrupt me, my boy. Now. Where was I? Ah!” Dumbledore snapped his fingers. “I’ve got it.” He held out a small yellow candy – sticky, with bits of lint stuck to it – looking immensely pleased with himself. “Lemon drop?”

Draco closed his eyes, counted to ten. When he was certain he could resist the urge to strangle the man, he replied. “No, thank you. Sir. Now, can we _please_ – ”

“You can’t rush these things, my boy,” Dumbledore said, shaking his head. “He’ll come when he’s ready.”

Draco fought down the urge to scream. “ _Who_ will come, Sir?”

“Why, Draco Malfoy, of course.”

Draco stared at him in dawning horror. “But… but _I’m_ Draco Malfoy! Surely you recognize me?”

“Are you now?” Dumbledore peered at him. “Well. I do believe you’re right. Astonishing. Why didn’t you say so at once? There’s no time to lose! Come on, my boy, come on!” So saying, Dumbledore hurried away.

Draco’s heart sank. The former Headmaster was off his rocker, and this was all a waste of time. Just one more colossal mistake. He wouldn’t be able to save Harry this way – he wouldn’t be able to save Harry at all. Harry was dead.

Draco sank to his knees, dropped his head into his hands.

Harry was dead.

The words seemed to echo around the cavernous empty mist.

_Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead…_

Draco felt hot tears on his cheeks; powerless to stop the flood threatening to break out of him, he let himself cry. He cried and cried, rivers of tears, oceans, until he didn’t think he had any tears left. But still he cried.

As the tears finally slowed, he became aware of a hand patting his back, another carding gently through his hair. A warm chest, pressing close to him. Soft lips whispering against his ear.

“Draco,” they said, and, “it’s all right,” and, “I’m here,” and, “I love you.”

Draco felt his breath catch in his throat.

He choked on a broken sob, looked up slowly, hardly daring to hope.

“Harry,” he choked out. “Harry. Oh, Harry.”

“Shh… Draco. It’s OK. I’ve got you. I’m here.” Harry pulled him close again, pressed kisses onto his hair, his eyes, his nose…

Draco leaned up and caught Harry’s lips in a desperate kiss. He poured everything into that kiss – all of his love, so that Harry might remember.

He knew it was their last kiss. Knew it in his bones.

“Draco, my boy,” Dumbledore’s words were gentle, terrible. “Draco. It’s time.”

Harry frowned. “Draco…”

Draco captured his lips in one last fierce kiss.

“Remember me, Harry,” he whispered. “Remember that… I loved you.”

“Draco?” Harry's voice chased after him as he turned and walked resolutely away to join Dumbledore.

“Draco?” Harry’s voice floated to him, frantic. But the white mist obscured him from Draco’s sight.

Draco wasn’t sure he was even there anymore, but he called out one last time, just in case. “’Mione will explain everything. Remember, Harry. I love you. Remember…”

The mist swallowed his words, and Draco turned to Dumbledore.

“Ready, my boy?” Dumbledore’s eyes were gentle, and Draco steeled himself. He did this of his own free will. He chose it, because the alternative didn’t bear thinking about. Because a life without Harry was no life at all.

He looked up, into the shadowed blue eyes of the man he’d failed to kill. “I’m sorry,” he blurted. “For that night. On the tower. Forgive me; I never wanted to kill you.”

Dumbledore’s eyes softened. “I cannot forgive you, my boy; there’s nothing to forgive. I knew you were no killer, and, even if you had gone through with it, I’d planned to die that night all along.” He smiled sadly. “I was dying, already, you see. I decided to die on my own terms, in the way that would most benefit the Order I served. So, you see,” he said, clapping Draco gently on the shoulder, “there really is nothing to forgive.”

Draco stared at him.

“Now,” Dumbledore said, rubbing his hands together, “let’s see that stone Cygnus was so worked up over.”

Draco felt around in his pocket, laid the small stone on Dumbledore’s palm. Dumbledore peered closely at it through his spectacles, and then started to laugh.

“What is it, Sir?” Draco was beginning to get nervous. Laughter like that didn’t often bode well, he’d found.

Dumbledore wiped his eyes, still chuckling. “Tell me, young Mister Malfoy,” he said. “What did Cygnus tell you about this stone?”

Draco frowned. “That it’s called the Heart’s Blood Stone. That it can be used to bring back the recently dead, provided the caster is willing to die in their place.”

Dumbledore nodded, eyes twinkling. “Ah, yes. A life for a life. Now, tell me, Mister Malfoy. Did Cygnus happen to tell you of the special case? The exception to the rule, as it were?”

Draco thought back over the encounter. “No?”

Dumbledore nodded. “I thought not. Still, I suppose we should probably give him the benefit of the doubt.”

“Sir?”

“It is possible, of course, that Cygnus was simply unaware of the exception. I think it more likely, however, that Cygnus, a Slytherin like yourself, thought to provide only the information that would be likely to motivate a fellow Slytherin.”

“Sir!” Draco was getting confused, and the anticipation was killing him – _or it would, if I weren’t already dead._

“You’re not dead, yet, Mister Malfoy. And, I suspect that you won’t be, for some time to come.”

Draco stared at him, flummoxed.

Dumbledore smiled at him. “Turn around, my boy.”

“What?”

“Go on. Turn around.”

Draco sighed and turned around, to find himself face to face with Harry Potter.

“Harry! But – ”

“The special case, Mister Malfoy,” said Dumbledore, smiling widely, “is the case where each member of the pair who invoke the power of the Heart's Blood Stone gives his life to save the other.”

Draco suddenly remembered a flash of green light, and Harry, throwing himself in front of Draco. Giving his life to save Draco’s. “Oh.”

Dumbledore held out the stone. “Give me your hands.”

Draco reached out his left hand, the hand he’d clasped the stone in when he came here, to save Harry’s life by offering his own in its stead. Harry reached out his right hand, his eyes never leaving Draco's, and Dumbledore clasped them both, pressing the stone into their joined hands.

“It is truly my privilege to tell you boys that neither of you will die today. That your selfless acts of courage and cunning will not go unrewarded.” He smiled at them, his eyes twinkling as merrily as they had in life. “I am also very glad that you have _finally_ resolved your sexual tension, and I wish you both a long and happy life together.”

The mist closed in around them, then, hiding Dumbledore from their sight. His last words floated to them through the mist, wavery and insubstantial. “Remember, boys, everyone deserves a second chance!”

* * *

Draco blinked open his eyes to see Hermione bending over him, peering concernedly into his face.

“Harry!” he wheezed. The damned mist seemed to have settled in his lungs. He coughed.

“Here,” came a gravelly voice beside him, a voice Draco had never thought to hear again. He turned, heedless of Hermione’s startled cry, and launched himself into Harry’s arms.


	40. Picking Up the Pieces

Harry POV

"Harry!" Hermione gasped, hands flying to her mouth. "Oh, Harry!" She looked like she couldn't decide whether to laugh or cry, and was quite possibly considering doing both at once.

Harry, arms full of a frantic Draco, looked helplessly around for someone to comfort her. Luna slipped up behind Hermione, nodded to Harry, who was profoundly grateful, and wrapped her arms securely around her. She nuzzled into Hermione's hair, which had escaped its ties sometime during the battle, and now frizzed around Hermione's head in a poofy cloud, wilder than Harry had ever seen it.

The Weasley twins bounded over, then, and wrapped Harry and Draco together into a rough hug, complete with somewhat contradictory hair ruffling and back-slapping. Harry sucked in a lungful of air once they'd let go – it had been a _very_ enthusiastic hug – and watched, highly amused, as the twins enfolded Hermione and Luna in much the same manner.

He was somewhat surprised when the hug went on for longer than he expected, and even more so when the twins deftly steered the girls away, toward the triage station Madam Pomfrey had set up. They looked so cozy, the four of them. Hermione and Luna, arms wrapped tightly around one another's waists, didn't really surprise him. Despite Luna's blithe feyness, which harry suspected to be at least partially feigned, he knew she was at least as clever as Hermione. So, no, Luna and Hermione made _sense_ – though a strange sort of sense, to be sure.

But the twins...

Harry watched the tenderness in Fred's face, as he guided Luna around a pool of blood, the gentleness of George's hand, stroking Hermione's hair, and decided that perhaps that made a strange kind of sense too, and really wasn't strange, at all.

Draco mumbled something against his throat, then, hands roaming restlessly across Harry's chest, and Harry returned his wandering attention to his own lover, who, despite not being the one to actually die – unlike Harry – seemed rather more shaken up by the whole experience.

Of course, Harry thought, as he pulled Draco closer against him, Draco's experience probably _had_ been more traumatizing. After all, all Harry'd had to do was make a split-second decision to save his lover, and then die. He didn't really remember much of the actual being dead part. Just the sensation of warmth. A bright light. Lips ghosting across his forehead. A whiff of vaguely familiar perfume. And then _Draco_ , shining brighter than anything Harry had ever known. Shining brighter than the sun.

He knew he would ask Draco about it one day – years in the future, perhaps, when the wounds were not so raw. But, even the bits he'd learned from Dumbledore, in that strange place _between_ , in the shifting white mists, told him that Draco's part had been harder.

He'd had to see his father kill his lover – foiling his father's attempt to kill his own son. He'd presumably had to see his father killed as well – Harry could see that Malfoy-pale hair, in the heap of Death Eater bodies in the corner – and his mother, too. He'd had to spend at least a few minutes thinking Harry dead forever, and, while Harry once would have thought Draco would enjoy that, he knew better now. He'd had to make the conscious, deliberate choice to die in Harry's stead, where Harry had acted on impulse. And that had been _after_ Draco had figured out _how_ to go about the exchange.

No, Harry decided, as he bent to meet Draco's questing lips with his own, he couldn't fault Draco for being clingy and shaken up. He'd had far more to deal with than Harry had.

"Draco?"

"Hmmm?"

"What is this?" Harry held up the stone nestled in his palm, the one he'd picked up in the attic at Grimmauld Place, so long ago, now, that it felt like a lifetime.

Draco's eyes widened, and he reached out one finger, stroked it reverently. "It's what let me bring you back - bring _us_ back," he corrected himself.

Harry frowned at it. "It doesn't look nearly powerful enough to do that."

Draco stroked Harry's wrist, the small scar that marked it, that Harry didn't recognize. Then he curled Harry's finger's around the stone and wrapped his hand around them both. There was a small pop, and the stone vanished.

"Draco?"

"It's called the Heart's Blood Stone," Draco said softly, "it allowed me to go find you, bring you back. I meant to stay there, exchange my life for yours." His eyes were distant, unfocused. "A life for a life."

"But we were the exception." Harry frowned, turning Dumbledore's words over in his mind.

Draco snorted. "Of course you were bloody well the exception. You're _always_ the exception, you great gormless git. Always throwing yourself in front of other people, without a thought for yourself."

"Mmmm." Harry nuzzled his neck. "And this time, you did the same for me."

Draco ducked his head, cheeks pinking. "Yes, well. Don't expect me to make a habit of it."

Harry grinned. "I wouldn't dream of it."

Then another thought occurred to him, and he groaned, slumping back toward the floor and taking a startled Draco with him.

Draco grumbled and shifted, and then his face appeared, hovering over Harry's. "What was that for?" he asked grumpily. "I was just getting comfortable."

Harry threw his arm over his eyes. "I just realized," he groaned, "that I spent about 95% of the battle _dead_ – a useless _lump_ – and they'll probably _still_ erect a hideous statue of me."

Draco started to laugh.

Harry uncovered his eyes and stared at him indignantly. "You really want to see some bloody awful golden monstrosity in the middle of the castle grounds, making me out to be some kind of hero, and discounting all the people who actually fought and won the battle?"

"Oh, I dunno. I doubt it will be on the Hogwarts grounds, anyway, so I wouldn't worry about that," Draco said thoughtfully.

"Really?" Harry asked, voice sounding pathetically hopeful in his own ears.

"Oh, yes. They'll most likely put it in Diagon Alley. On the steps of Gringott's, maybe. Or, _ooh_ , I bet they'll put it in the lobby of the Ministry!"

Harry stared at him, horrified. "You are a cruel, cruel bastard," he said, once he'd managed to close his gaping mouth.

"But, you love me anyway." Draco grinned.

"Yes. Yes, I do, at that."

Draco's grin turned decidedly wicked. "Of course, there is _something_ of yours I'd like to see erect..."

Harry gaped at him. _Surely he didn't just..._ he took in Draco's expression, which had morphed into a leer. Harry snorted. _He did. He bloody well did._

He hefted himself up, pulled Draco to his feet. "Come on, then. I can think of better places to continue this discussion."

"And just _where_ do you boys think you're going?" Madam Pomfrey's indignant shout reached them just as they were about to leave the Hall. "Get back over here and get checked out at once!"

Draco looked around, puzzled. "Did you hear something?" Only the gleam in his eyes gave him away.

Harry snorted, put on his best innocent expression. "Nope. Not a thing."

They pushed through the door together, waiting only until they'd cleared the entrance to burst into hysterical giggles.Leaning against one another, laughing helplessly, they stumbled back to their room.

 


	41. Putting It All Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'k you guys. Just wanted to say you're awesome, and thanks for reading my not-actually-a-chapter post yesterday. All of your comments really helped me work through the stress, anxiety, & angst of coming out to people (even though I'd already done it, but sometimes just after you hit send/post is the worst). And I'm feeling much more settled in myself, and like I can stop crying and start working to move past the tragedy of the shooting. So thank you - and here's the next chapter (just a tad late, I know, 'cuz I've got a cold, and slept in this morning).

Draco POV

Hermione and Luna sprawled on a couch in the Gryffindor common room, reading and chewing on matching quills. Harry and Draco lounged comfortably on the couch facing them. Draco, head resting in Harry's lap, was revising for Potions, while Harry read the latest issue of Quidditch Monthly and absently carded his fingers through Draco's hair. Draco hoped he'd never stop.

"Harry!" Hermione admonished, "you really need to think about this! Exams are only a few weeks away,"

"'Mione," Harry groaned, "I _have_ thought about it."

Hermione sighed. "Harry. Everyone knows what they plan to do after graduation. The only people who've not decided are you and Draco."

Harry's fingers stilled. Draco didn't have to look at him to know he was scowling, face set into the mulish expression he got when Hermione badgered him.

Draco sighed, carefully marking his place, and sat up. "Actually 'Mione," he said steadily, "we have decided." He glanced at Harry, who rolled his eyes, but nodded.

"Really?" Hermione said doubtfully, "And what's that then?"

Draco took Harry's hand, squeezed it. "We're renovating Grimmauld Place."

Hermione frowned. "That's not - "

"For heaven's sake, 'Mione," Harry exclaimed. "We're turning it into a place for people to stay and get back on their feet, like we said we would. There's plenty of people whose families aren't happy with their choices, or whose parents are in Azkaban, or dead." He said the last quietly, slanting a concerned look at Draco. Draco found his concern both adorable and exasperating.

"We were never close," he said softly.

"They were still your parents."

Draco shrugged, eyes flat and steely. "They dug their own graves, as far as I'm concerned. I lost all respect for my father when he aimed a killing curse at my back, and killed you instead. The coward didn't even have the guts to look me in the eyes as he cut me down. As far as I'm concerned, his words to Voldemort were true. He had no son."

Harry kissed him softly, then turned back to the girls. "Anyway, I need to go speak to McGonagall about the legal side of things. I think we have to get certified as an orphanage, since a bunch of the students we're taking in are underage."

Hermione watched him walk away, eyes unreadable. Draco assumed that her reasons for watching were different than his. He hoped so, anyway. He'd hate to have to fight Hermione for Harry.

She turned to him, the instant the portrait swung shut behind Harry. "I'm sorry, Draco. I had no idea. It's just - I worry about him." She laughed softly. "I spent six years looking after him, worrying about him, and now it's hard to stop."

Draco nodded. "I know. But, just because he has me, doesn't mean he doesn't still need you, you know."

Her eyes misted over. "Thanks Draco. I - I'm sorry for how we treated you, over the years."

He snorted. "Hermione. I called you some pretty terrible names. I picked fights with you all constantly. Believe me, I deserved everything I got."

Ron snorted, from his place by the fire, but otherwise didn't comment.

Hermione shot him an annoyed look, then turned back to Draco. "Well, anyway, you're all right now."

Draco studied her thoughtfully. "Harry's keeping Kreacher on, at Grimmauld Place," he said abruptly. "We offered to free him, pay him, all of that. He didn't want it. That's part of why Harry's been reluctant to talk about our plans, I think. He's worried you'll think less of him for that." He raked his hand through his hair. "Maybe if you visited one day, talked to Harry about his plans for the place, talked to Kreacher even - get his side of things - I think that would help."

"That sounds like a lovely idea," Luna said.

Hermione met her eyes for a moment, then nodded. "Yes. I think I'd like that. And... I think I'd be OK with it, even. If it really is what Kreacher wants."

"There you girls are!" Fred and George exclaimed, throwing themselves onto the couch and then draping themselves over Hermione and Luna.

Hermione turned her face up to George's, kissed him soundly while Luna cuddled into Fred.

"Oi, mate, have you forgotten how to share?" Fred asked after a few minutes.

Hermione broke the kiss and grinned at him. "I don't know, Fred, I think your brother may be a better kisser."

"Right. Shove over," Fred commanded. Luna pouted as he pulled away, then cuddled into George as he plopped into his brother's vacated spot. Fred, meanwhile, pulled Hermione into an even longer kiss.

Draco squeaked. "Hang on! When I – jokingly, I might add – accused you of being intimate with Weasel and the Weasley twins, you hit me! You said, and I quote, 'Ew!'"

"If you recall, I didn't specify exactly which part of your accusation I was objecting to," Hermione said primly, pulling back just far enough to smirk at him.

Draco spluttered. "But...but..."

"Oi! Hang on!" yelped Ron, suddenly catching on. Everybody ignored him.

Draco was still spluttering. "But... how were you not in Slytherin?"

Fred clapped him on the back. "Oh, well done, mate!"

George followed suit. "The Slytherin Prince, out-Slytherined by our resident brainiac," he chortled.

Hermione raised an eyebrow and tapped her foot.

"Who we are very _very_ fond of," said George hastily.

"Oh, yes. Very fond," added Fred, "Brains are sexy."

"Hmmm." Hermione didn't look convinced.

Luna cuddled up to Hermione and twined slender arms round her neck. "You know," she said thoughtfully, "I don't think these _boys_ appreciate you enough. Why don't you come back to my room and help me think up ways to punish them."

Ron emitted a strange choking sound, like a teakettle that's just realized it would rather be a coffeepot.

"And brains are _definitely_ sexy," Luna added, voice slow and dreamy, as she played with a lock of Hermione's hair.

Hermione practically purred as Luna slipped a hand into Hermione's, twined their fingers together, pulled her from the couch, and led her away, leaning her head on Hermione's shoulder and whispering something about leather that Draco tried very hard not to hear.

"Well," Draco said, once they'd disappeared from view. "That was certainly...interesting."

"Leather..." George said dreamily.

"Leather..." Fred echoed. Both boys let out gusty sighs.

Draco snorted. "Come on, Weasel. Harry should be done with McGonagall soon. Let's go see if he's up for some pick-up quidditch.

Ron nodded mechanically. "Harry. Quidditch. Right."


	42. A Perfect Day

Harry POV

The Golden Trio, plus Draco and Pansy, reclined in the sunshine, soaking it up, letting it relax muscles that had forgotten how to be anything but tense.

Hermione coated her limbs in sunblock, put on a huge floppy hat and sunglasses, pulled a thick tome from her bag, and began to read.

"'Mione, what are you doing?" Harry asked exasperatedly.

Hermione looked up at him, puzzled. "Reading. I thought it was obvious."

"Exams are over, 'Mione. You're supposed to be relaxing."

She peered at him over the rim of her sunglasses. "Harry. I _am_ relaxing."

Harry shook his head, but gave it up. He turned back to Draco, deep in conversation with Pansy, and amused himself by slipping blades of grass inside his lover's collar.

Fred and George waved to them, wandering over with a large basket hefted between them. Luna followed, carrying a familiar bag. Ron grinned. "Finally! Food!" Hermione reached over to smack him without taking her eyes from her book.

Luna rolled out a blanket next to theirs and began setting out a bewildering array of dishes and utensils, pulling them one by one from her bag - Hermione's specially expanded one - and studying each thoughtfully before placing it on the blanket.

"Luna," Pansy drawled, "what on earth are those?"

Luna turned to her in astonishment. "Oh! But you've never used a gnarlan hammer before?"

Pansy struggled to keep a straight face. "No, I'm afraid I haven't. What does one use a gnarlan hammer for, exactly?"

"Oh! They're only the most useful thing you could _possibly_ have." Her face lit up with a gently pitying smile. "They're for tempting gnarlans with."

"I see. And, forgive my ignorance, but what is so tempting about them?"

"Gnarlans love to hit things, you see. They will be drawn to the hammer, and attempt to knock you out with it."

Pansy raised one elegant brow. "And this is a good thing?"

Luna smiled serenely. "Oh, yes. You see, all you have to do is wait for the gnarlan to reach for the hammer. Then you grab it yourself and knock them out with it. It's a wondrously fun game. The gnarlan will love you forever after that. Though, it's best to keep a gnarlan hammer on you at all times, once you've begun," she added thoughtfully.

Pansy stared at her, wordless. Then she shook her head and leaned towards Draco. "Barmy, that one is." Harry and Draco shared a look, matching grins on their faces.

Ginny plopped down on the blanket next to them. "Budge up." She pushed on Harry's shoulder until he scooted towards the other side of the blanket.

"Hey!" Draco scowled. "I have no intention of getting grass stains on this shirt," he said, nose in the air, in a perfect imitation of his former snooty tone.

Harry responded by tackling him to the ground, snogging him senseless. When they came up for air, Pansy, who had arranged herself artfully across Ginny's lap, drawled "Draco, darling, I'm afraid you've _ruined_ your shirt."

Draco shrugged. "I've got others." He and Pansy grinned at one another, spoiling their matching aristocratic expressions.

Ginny leaned over to Harry. "I wasn't surprised." He looked up at her, startled.

"No?"

"No. Malfoy was a bit of a shock, but, well, he's the obvious choice, isn't he? If you think about it; I mean, who else were you ever that obsessed with?"

Harry opened his mouth to protest and then closed it with a snap. Ginny grinned at him. "Exactly. And, I could tell, you know. That you weren't really interested in me."

Harry frowned. "I – "

"Oh, you might have been, at first. I'm sure you thought you were, since you're too honorable to date someone on false pretenses." Ginny waved her hand, dismissing the matter. "Anyway, it doesn't matter. It made me think about things that I'd been putting off thinking about. And I'm happy now." She smiled at Pansy, who smiled shyly back.

Harry thought he could like this new Pansy. Though, Draco didn't seem surprised by how she was acting, so maybe it wasn't so new. Maybe he'd just never bothered to really see her before. He frowned, wondering what else he'd missed. He wrenched his attention back to Ginny with an effort. He still needed to apologize.

"I am sorry, Gin," he said softly. "I honestly did care about you – I just didn't realize it was more like a sister than a girlfriend. I know you cared for me – more than as a brother, I mean – and I didn't even notice when it changed."

Ginny smiled wryly at him. "I was infatuated with you, you mean. That's all it was, Harry. Don't feel guilty for making me realize that. And, are you sure you didn't notice?" She raised one eyebrow in an expression Harry realized he'd seen before on Pansy's face, and on Draco's. It was surreal.

"I – " he started. Then he stopped, frowning, eyes distant as he gazed back into memory. "No, you're right," he said, after a moment. "I guess I did notice. I just didn't know what it was."

Ginny raised her butterbeer to him, and Harry bemusedly raised his own to clink against it. "So," she said thoughtfully, "I think I'll consider you my brother now, if that's alright. I've got so many – another one won't make much difference. And you can make up for some of Idiot Ron's lack of brains."

Harry smiled, despite himself. Poor Ron. Ginny would never let him live it down. "Alright," he said, "sister."

They grinned at one another, and then turned towards a high-pitched shriek. An enraged Hermione chased Ron across the grass, pelting him with well-aimed hexes. Ron howled as more than one met its target.

"What do you think he did this time?" Draco asked lazily from where he sprawled across Harry's lap.

Pansy shaded her eyes for a moment, smirking after him, "He spilled butterbeer on her book."

Luna giggled, and George looked down at her fondly, busy fingers pausing mid-daisy chain to card gently through her hair. Fred looked up from rubbing Luna's feet to stare after Hermione and Ron, until Luna wiggled her feet to get his attention. "You can ogle Hermione's lovely figure _after_ you finish my foot rub." 

Fred caught his twin's eye and quirked a brow. George grinned. "I've a better idea, Luna, love, why don't the three of us go and distract 'Mione instead? She seems awfully tense..."

Luna peered over the top of her ridiculous sunglasses and pursed her lips thoughtfully. "Boys, I think that may be your best idea, yet."

"'Later! George called to Harry and the others, as they pelted across the grass, giggling and calling to Hermione. Fred raised his hand in a distracted wave, attention focused on the girls ahead of him.

Draco stared incredulously after them. "Harry," he said seriously, "have I mentioned lately that your friends are all nutters?"

Harry threw back his head and laughed. Draco smiled up at him, intertwining their fingers and squeezing gently.

It was a perfect day.


	43. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for sticking with me and reading this story through to the end! This is the longest thing I've *ever* written, so it's a kind of big deal for me. You all are amazing, and I love you!

Black House POV

A small, unassuming stone dropped to the attic floor with a quiet thunk.

The Most Ancient and Noble House of Black roused from its slumber, shifted, smiled. The Heart's Blood Stone disappeared with a small pop, reappearing in its rightful place, in the heart of the House, hidden _between_.

The stone had returned; its purpose had been fulfilled. The boys - both Master Blacks - were alive.

The Most Ancient and Noble House of Black settled more comfortably into its foundation. The boys would return, now. Their mutually binding promises would draw them back. All that remained was to wait. And the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black was _good_ at waiting.

THE END


	44. New Story Posted!

Hi guys! Just a quick note to let you know that I just published another one-shot story in this !verse - called Constant Vigilance! It takes place during chapter 36 and details McGonagall's frustrations with Mad Eye Moody's (and Sirius') scaring the first-years, and how she gets back at them.

 

http://archiveofourown.org/works/7992070

 

And another one - Rebel Without A Clue. It addresses the issues I created when I brought Sirius back to life - namely, that it negates the ending of JNCOFT (where Harry and Draco are Masters Black). This was written to fix that issue.

 

http://archiveofourown.org/works/8021635

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed, and feel free to come say hi on [tumblr](https://whimsicaldragonette.tumblr.com/)


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